Page 230

“I know.”

“I thought restraint would slow the spiral. It did, maybe, but it didn’t stop anything. People are already inventing versions worse than what we actually released.”

“They were always going to.”

I open my eyes and turn toward her. “What if Rolaev was right about the shape of it? Not the murder. Not the Choir. But the spreading. The way even fragments reshape everything around them.”

Sira looks out at the debris. “She was right that truth changes civilizations.”

“That is the worst pep talk.”

“It was not meant as pep.”

“Clearly.”

Sira folds her hands in her lap. “Civilizations are always changing. A slow truth is still truth. It may wound. It may heal. Most likely, it will do both.”

“That sounds neat when you say it.”

“It is not neat. It is merely unavoidable.”

I laugh softly, but the sound has no humor in it. “I keep thinking of Echo. ‘You made beauty. That was not expected.’ What a beautiful, horrible thing to say. Like congratulations, the accidental fungus developed poetry.”

Sira’s mouth curves faintly. “Anita.”

“What? That is basically the summary.”

“Perhaps. But the poetry remains.”

My compad buzzes beside her hand.

We both look down.

The screen is blank except for one line of text in a secure channel I do not recognize.

You released less than I feared and more than I hoped.

My blood goes cold.

Sira reads it, and all softness leaves her face. “Is that⁠—”

The next line appears.

You know who this is.

I sit up slowly. “Rolaev .”

Sira reaches for the alert panel. “We should call Ghar.”

“Wait.”

“Anita.”

“She didn’t threaten us.”

“Not yet.”

The compad buzzes again.