The days following the garden visit fell into a rhythm of quiet preparation. The house, which had once felt like a sanctuary from the world, now felt like a command centre, though one filled with the sounds of family rather than the cold efficiency of an office.
Ren spent hours at his desk, the surface covered in architectural schematics of the city. He looked at the cathedral and the surrounding industrial blocks not as landmarks, but as components of a massive, dissonant instrument.
Fang worked alongside him, though his method was entirely different. He did not need the paper. He closed his eyes, reached out with his senses, and mapped the flow of energy that still clung to the city's bones.
"The frequency originates in the foundation," Fang said one evening, his voice low as he traced a line on the air with a fingertip. "It is not coming from the cathedral itself, but from the ley lines that converge beneath it. They are being pulled, Ren."
