The census runners returned with thicker boards.

  Not because the district had grown.

  Because the columns had.

  New headings appeared beneath each household entry:

  Compliance Status

  Irregular Movement

  Labor Classification

  Observation Notes

  The square did not react.

  It adjusted.

  Kael noticed the new headings before anyone explained them.

  “You’ve expanded the dataset,” he said to the senior clerk.

  “We’ve expanded accountability,” she replied.

  He studied the sheet.

  Observation Notes was blank on most entries.

  Not all.

  He traced one mark with his finger.

  “Who writes this column?”

  “Patrol.”

  “And who reviews it?”

  “Council.”

  He nodded.

  Feedback loop, he thought.

  Lyria watched patrols move through Low Weave with chalk and boards instead of steel.

  She preferred steel.

  Steel was honest.

  Chalk felt permanent.

  Iri answered more questions that morning.

  “Does anyone reside here unregistered?”

  “No.”

  “Has anyone relocated in the past thirty days?”

  “No.”

  The clerk made a small notation anyway.

  Observation: hesitation before response.

  Iri saw it.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

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  “It means we’re thorough,” the clerk replied.

  Thorough.

  The word felt like a door closing.

  In the square, Sable Crier’s stall had shifted closer to the partitioned lanes.

  His new vial labels read:

  Adjustment Aid

  Compliance Rest

  Evening Focus

  Kael paused in front of him.

  “You’re rebranding,” Kael said.

  Sable smiled faintly. “Language is everything.”

  “Does it work?”

  “People prefer to believe they’re adapting rather than sedating.”

  Kael considered that.

  “And are they?”

  Sable’s smile didn’t change. “Does it matter?”

  Nearby, Garron watched the exchange.

  “You don’t trust him,” Garron said when Kael walked away.

  “I don’t trust incentives,” Kael replied.

  Above, in Council Hall, Soryn reviewed the first compliance summaries.

  Low Weave — 87% verified

  Old Stone — 98% verified

  Irregular Migration — Concentrated in southern quadrant

  “Recommend boundary enforcement,” the Watch Captain said.

  “Define enforcement,” Soryn replied.

  “Formal district checkpoints during evening hours.”

  “That resembles restriction.”

  “It resembles prevention.”

  She studied the map.

  Red marks dotted Low Weave.

  Blue marks dominated Old Stone.

  The colors were becoming identity.

  “Draft checkpoint proposal,” she said finally. “Limited to high-variance corridors.”

  The scribe paused.

  “Temporary?”

  “Yes.”

  She signed it.

  Below, the partitions no longer drew attention.

  Children had begun weaving through them as part of their games.

  They knew exactly how far the wood extended.

  They never crossed into the wrong lane.

  Habit had settled.

  At dusk, a patrol stopped the wall labor crew for document verification.

  “Supplement authorization,” the enforcer demanded.

  The foreman’s replacement handed over the stamped slip.

  Approved.

  Logged.

  Recorded.

  He glanced toward the fountain seam where the blood had once dried.

  It had been scrubbed.

  But the stone was slightly darker still.

  In Low Weave, the boy watched a checkpoint lantern ignite at the district entrance.

  “They’re putting light there now,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “So we don’t walk through?”

  “So they can see us,” Iri answered.

  He thought about that.

  “Do they think we’re hiding?”

  Iri didn’t respond.

  In the square, Kael updated his diagram again.

  Checkpoints reduce cross-district error, he wrote.

  But he added a second note beneath it:

  Increased monitoring may create internal pressure.

  He stared at the second line longer than the first.

  For the first time, he wasn’t sure which variable mattered more.