Chapter Five: Seventy-Two Blind Spots

“You obtained no consent,” Xu said. “Neither did the fissure.” Zhou placed his timer beside a photograph of one of the twelve—his wife. Its edges had faded white. “Zhao and the others live. They are anchors. Without a new one tonight, six eastern districts will overlap for seven seconds. Doors, roads, people—rewritten. Hate me after the city survives.” It was carefully engineered truth. He did not explain why selection had accelerated from yearly to daily. Lin ordered his remaining agents to swipe away his card. His countdown paused. Zhou's mechanical timer continued. “My twenty-four hours aren't the door's clock,” Lin said. “They're how long you can control it.” Cen shouted through the broken screen: “He can only—”