David stood on the balcony with a mug of black coffee, watching the city stir below — delivery bikes weaving through traffic, early joggers circling the block, the distant clatter of a construction site starting its day. No Codex panel forced itself into view. No group chat lit up with synchronized updates. Just the ordinary rhythm of Atlanta doing what it always did: moving forward whether anyone noticed or not.
Rebecca was still asleep inside, one arm thrown across the pillow, the sheets tangled around her legs. The night before had been quiet — takeout Thai food on the balcony, low conversation about Marcus and Michelle, and the slow realization that the empire was no longer something they were building in secret. It was simply becoming the air they breathed.
David's phone buzzed once. A single message from Victoria.
