The crowns were in. The belt held. Now we had to teach the Moon how to notice—and how to lie.
Kade rolled a fresh plan across the ops table: no projector, just paper and the kind of pencil that leaves decisions behind it.
"Two layers," he said. "A quiet lattice that feels, and a ring of ghosts that lie."
"Define quiet," Reika said.
"Nothing that blinks. No beacons. Stone, sigil and a soft current. If a stranger breathes near our spine, the lattice tingles and the belt's hum changes by half a note. That's all."
Rose tapped an empty hex. "And the ghosts?"
"Decoy pillars. Shallow cores that sing like anchors when they're touched. If someone tries to map us by behaviour again, they memorise the wrong kindness."
"That's half of it," I said.
Kade looked up.
