Croft’s jaw tightens. "With respect, Luna, my security detail is armed with depleted uranium rounds. If anything non-human breaches the perimeter—"
"Your rounds will be useless, General," I say softly, letting a fraction of the Anchor’s heavy pressure bleed into the air. The UN guards instinctively take a half-step back. "The Architects do not have bodies you can shoot. They enforce physics. If they attack, your only job is to evacuate the human delegates to the deep bunkers. The wolves will handle the sky."
Croft stares at me for a long moment, then gives a sharp, respectful nod. "Understood, Luna. We hold the perimeter."
As the delegation is escorted to the guest quarters, I feel a sudden, sharp spike of dissonance in the living grid.
It’s not a physical breach. It’s a harmonic misal
