The failure did not arrive loudly.

There was no explosion. No scream carried across districts. No single moment could Varenth point to and say this was when it went wrong.

That was the cruelty of it.

It arrived in sequence.

In protocol.

In the space between two approvals.

The call came from the northworks just after midday—a structural collapse along the river-facing warehouses, old stone undermined by years of water and neglect. The sound itself was unimpressive: a groan, a crack, then ...