The merged territories no longer had clear borders. Sanctuary's straight lines and the Wild's tangled growth had fused into one breathing mass.
Streets curved overnight to follow foot traffic patterns from the day before. Buildings sprouted extra rooms when families needed space, or sealed off corridors when arguments grew too loud.
The air carried fragments of dreams—half-remembered voices, smells of old meals, the faint pressure of unspoken worries. Everyone felt it now. No one mentioned it much.
Atlas walked the central artery that used to be the main avenue of the old core district. His right arm hung heavier than the rest of him.
The crystal integration had finished weeks ago, but the limb never settled. It twitched toward imbalances in the living system like a compass needle finding north. Right now it pulled him left, toward the newer sprawl.
