The ARC monitoring center screens lit up at dawn.
Lines of data scrolled past—orderly, stable, no boundary alerts triggered.
Florence, city center.Coordinates locked on the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore.
A technician stared at the display, fingers hovering above the keyboard, unmoving.
Synchronization remained within safe parameters.Energy feedback showed no abnormal peaks.
When the projected outline of the dome aligned with the city grid, a shape that should have fit perfectly slipped—just enough to leave a hairline gap.
The technician beside him glanced over, tapped the edge of the screen.
Someone pulled up an archived file from the sealed layer.
The title contained only four words:Sacred Geometry.
Below it, a set of ratios. A set of coordinates.No annotations.
The screen refreshed.The dome was still there.So was the gap.
The two technicians exchanged a look.Neither spoke.
The feed switched to Rome.
In the live footage outside the Colosseum, the crowd was moving.Footsteps blended together into a steady murmur.
In the same second, several people stopped.
One braced a hand against the wall.One pressed fingers to their temple.One misstepped, knees buckling slightly.
The imbalance lasted half a beat—then was swallowed by the city.
Faces tightened for a moment.Then people resumed walking, as if nothing had happened.
The annotation panel updated.
Florence: proportional deviation ongoing.Rome: energy disturbance, origin unknown.
The operator's finger paused over the notes field.In the end, no symbol was added.
Night settled over Florence.
The stone pavement still held the heat of the day.When stepped on, the warmth returned late—by half a beat.So did the sense of weight beneath the soles.
Jeff walked in front.
With each step, he waited for the feedback.The coolness of stone always arrived a fraction too late.
Without thinking, his pace slowed, matching the delay exactly.
The air carried the damp scent of the river, threaded with iron.
Patch stayed close to his leg.Ears pinned low.Tail pressed tight to its body.
Each time its paws touched the ground, they paused briefly—testing the return vibration.
Ayla stopped at the edge of the square.
She looked up at the outline of the dome, then down at the seams between the stones.The lines were straight—yet stretched longer than memory allowed.
Her breath caught in her throat before she let it out.
She glanced toward Jeff ahead.His back was still straight, but in the previous step, he had deliberately paused—just half a beat.
"Not here."
Jeff didn't turn around.
At the next intersection, he turned without breaking stride, slowing just enough for the others to follow.
Emilia walked last.
Her gaze swept across the crowd, the shadows beneath the arches, the wavering lamplight.
When Jeff turned, she adjusted her steps—maintaining the distance between the three people and the cat.
Patch stopped abruptly at the mouth of an alley.
Its body rocked back, tugging at Jeff's pant leg.Its nose twitched, then turned toward a narrower street on the left.
Three people. One cat.They changed course together.
Ayla slipped into the narrow alley first.Emilia brought up the rear, eyes flicking once toward the intersection behind them.
The pressure in the street deepened.
The sense of solidity beneath their feet grew lighter.
Jeff led. Patch pressed against his leg.Ayla walked beside him. Emilia followed.
Without realizing it, four humans and one cat fell into the same delayed rhythm.
Each step landed.Each response arrived late.