Atlas stood in the central chamber, eyes closed, one hand pressed against the thick root pulsing beneath the floor. The seven defectors had arrived four days ago.
Their intel was solid: Rigid Core patrol schedules, Node maintenance blind spots, and confirmation that Selene's mirror projections drained local resources faster than anyone realized. But their presence had already cracked the territory in three directions.
Eastern districts sent runners demanding tighter borders. They remembered the last Rigid raid too clearly. Western Nodes pushed for immediate absorption, arguing that every defector healed strengthened the whole.
Central leadership—Atlas, Clara, Lara, and the boy—sat in the middle trying to keep it from splitting.
"Three more incidents this morning," Clara reported. She looked tired. "Two arguments in the market over 'perfection talk.' One Node in the east locked down because a defector started reciting old doctrine near its core."
