Chapter 10: Emergent Threads

Sebastian adjusted the interface depth on the holo display, shadows of code and resonance models flickering across the narrow console table.

The safehouse node was temporary—third location in two weeks. No routine. No anchor point.

But the work had to begin.

SAS-C's projection hummed quietly in his thoughts.

"Initial resonance scan complete. Target anomaly nodes: twenty-three sectors flagged. Thirteen exhibit possible artificial resonance drift. Three high probability."

Sebastian's breath eased slow.

Three. Out of an entire station. Out of an entire galaxy.

A start.

He leaned in, fingers moving through the data stream.

The weave had shifted since Tayseri. The nexus currents—human, turian, asari—now bore faint counter-flows.

Other nodes awakening.

He had known, after the last confrontation, that one-by-one corrections were too slow. The system was adapting. The universe bleeding karma in unpredictable channels.

He needed to move faster.

"Prioritize node mapping," he murmured. "Focus on candidates with multi-sector impact."

"Affirmative," SAS-C replied. "Cross-referencing with known faction data."

The list refined.

He studied the first flagged node: mid-tier contractor on the edge of the Alliance trade ring. No major history, but recent surges in influence. Subtle karmic pull around transport flows.

A second node: deep in the lower wards—turian origin. No formal profile. Nexus-tagged twice for unexplained stability events after minor gang conflicts.

The third—distant. Unclear.

SAS-C confirmed: "Low-data sector. Will require field validation."

Sebastian exhaled.

So be it.

If the galaxy itself was spawning artificial anchors—echoes of what fate once shaped—then he needed to chart them.

And decide which would hold.

The first move was his now.

But it would not be the last.

--

Serena moved through the lower promenade levels with slow intent.

Not hunting. Not tracing.

Listening.

The resonance in the city had deepened. Each step carried undertones now — faint hums beneath the weave of voices and machines. Not all from him. The lattice had grown more complex.

She could feel it.

Where before only one thread pulsed strong, now others whispered at the edges. Weak, unstable — but present.

Her blade-hand flexed unconsciously.

Old instinct.

If the universe was birthing new resonance nodes — echoes of forgotten paths — then the flow would fracture before it healed.

Some threads would pull true.

Others would twist.

And that… was dangerous.

She stepped through a narrow exchange sector — vendors closing for the cycle turnover.

A flicker — faint. To the west.

She turned, adjusting course.

Not him. But something like him. Cruder. Rougher.

An echo.

And where an echo rose — imbalance followed.

Serena's gaze sharpened.

If this was what the galaxy now offered, then she would see it for herself.

Because a huntress did not wait for chaos to come.

She met it first.

--

The corridor echoed with faint static.

Sebastian moved with deliberate care, senses tuned, pace slow.

He had tracked the first node here—the lower transit link beneath the Alliance logistics hub.

No signs of hostile presence. No Broker markers. No obvious STG traces.

But the weave was disturbed.

SAS-C whispered confirmation:

"Resonance disruption localized. Pulse irregular. Source unstable."

He shifted stance, one slow breath, and keyed a low-frequency ping.

No reply.

Then—a flicker.

A figure ahead—human male, broad-built. Low-tier mercenary by posture. But the resonance around him… wrong.

Distorted.

Artificial echo spilling uncontrolled into the flow.

The man paced tight circles, breath erratic, tension bleeding into the space.

Not aware. Not targeted. But dangerous.

Sebastian read it in an instant.

This node wasn't emerging clean.

The galaxy had birthed a flawed resonance.

A mutation.

He moved to intervene.

Not force—influence.

A correction, before the fracture spread.

--

Serena moved soundlessly above the scene—high on a maintenance gantry, gaze sharp.

She had followed the pulse here—the echo that was not him, but close.

And now she saw why.

The human below radiated wild resonance—fractured, unstable. No discipline. No core.

She frowned.

The galaxy's artificial corrections were not pure.

Without fate's guidance, some threads twisted as they rose.

A risk.

The mercenary's tension spiked—half-shouts, fists pounding the wall.

Around him, the flow bled wrong.

She prepared to drop—to end this cleanly.

But movement below caught her eye.

Sebastian.

He stepped into the space—calm, measured.

No weapon drawn.

Only presence.

And as he moved—his resonance pulsed, steady.

She watched, breath held.

Would he strike?

No.

He spoke—voice low, words lost in the hum—but the flow answered.

The mercenary's tension ebbed—trembled—then broke.

The false resonance collapsed—its echo bled harmless into the weave.

Serena exhaled.

So—not all corrections required the blade.

Her interest deepened.

And her resolve hardened.

She would know more.

Soon.

--

The holo-table flickered in the dim safehouse light.

Sebastian reviewed the scan results—resonance overlays tracing faint arcs through station sectors.

SAS-C's voice was steady.

"Correction complete. First flawed node stabilized. No residual bleed detected."

He nodded once.

"One down."

But it wasn't enough.

Each day brought new fractures. The universe's desperate compensations—birthing flawed echoes alongside the viable.

And each one a potential risk.

He leaned forward, fingers brushing through data threads.

"Map deeper," he ordered. "Project beyond current station—Citadel space, then wider."

"Processing," SAS-C replied. "Estimated node emergence: increasing."

Sebastian exhaled slowly.

The scale was growing.

One node at a time was no longer viable.

He needed allies.

Not pawns. Not assets.

True anchors.

The thought sharpened.

Resonant individuals. The rare few the universe shaped well.

Like Shepard would be. Like… Serena.

His gaze narrowed.

It was time to find them.

And to choose which ones could stand.

--

Night cycle pressed close across the outer wards.

The Citadel's endless hum softened—but did not fade.

In a narrow corridor near the upper concourse, Serena stood silent, watching.

Ahead—moving with calm purpose—Sebastian.

No cloak. No guards. Alone.

But every line of him spoke readiness.

She followed.

Not far.

Enough.

Her decision had crystallized.

Next contact would not be passive.

Not hints. Not veiled words.

Direct.

Because the galaxy's weave had reached a cusp.

And so had they.

She exhaled—quiet, slow.

Then moved to close the distance.

Step by measured step.

Toward the next chapter of the hunt.