They split without a word.

  The city posed three questions at once and waited, patient, to see which ones they answered first.

  Arthur’s tablet shrieked. Tony’s phone vibrated half a beat behind. Lenny’s boots lifted him an inch before he realized he’d moved.

  The staff yanked Cameron left hard.

  “Three,” Arthur said, already running. “Power dip south. Hospital grid. Generators cycling wrong.”

  Tony snorted mid?stride. “That’s the big one.”

  Lenny’s eyes glazed, scanning angles no one else saw. “Two. Water main north. Old iron. It’s holding its breath.”

  The staff pulled again. Cameron’s jaw tightened.

  “And one,” he said. “Transport spine east. Signals drifting out of phase.”

  They halted in the crossing’s center.

  Cars waited. Pedestrians froze. A light flashed green, then paused, uncertain.

  Tony glanced between them. “We don’t split like this.”

  “We are,” Cameron answered.

  No room for debate.

  Arthur swallowed hard. “If the hospital drops—”

  “I know.” Cameron pressed the staff into his hands.

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  Arthur stared at it. “I can’t”

  “You can anchor.” Cameron’s voice stayed level. “I’ll be slower. You’ll be nothing without weight behind your words.”

  Arthur’s fingers closed around it, trembling.

  Tony shifted the hammer higher. “Water’s mine.”

  Lenny’s grin flashed, already retreating. “Traffic it is.”

  They scattered.

  ---

  The hospital substation reeked of scorched dust and panic.

  Arthur burst through the door, voice cracking into command he hadn’t known he owned. The staff thrummed steady in his grip, sinking authority into the concrete until the vibrations eased enough for thought.

  “Generators aren’t failing,” he muttered, eyes raking panels. “They’re fighting each other.”

  He drove the staff deeper, leaning his full weight until the rules bent and the current settled. His teeth rattled.

  Not from cold.

  From the lives riding the line.

  ---

  Northward, the road heaved.

  Tony arrived as asphalt bulged, water hissing underneath, pressure coiling for release.

  He exhaled. “Let’s keep this quiet.”

  The hammer fell once measured, clean.

  Pavement split. The surge spilled into the breach, racing sideways into an open drain that swallowed it without protest.

  Tony’s grin lasted half a second.

  Then the second pipe ruptured.

  He sighed. “Naturally.”

  ---

  East, the junction failed with courtesy.

  Lights glowed steady. Signals updated. Vehicles inched forward, trusting patterns that no longer matched.

  Lenny slapped the traffic box sideways, boots locked to empty air. Timing jittered under his palm tiny delays stacking, teetering.

  “This is stupid,” he laughed. “Such a stupid way to kill people.”

  He launched, twisted mid?bound, struck the far pole and hauled gravity into realignment. Lights stuttered, then locked into an awkward but functional beat.

  Horns erupted.

  No metal crumpled.

  Lenny’s laugh cut short.

  His boots slipped just enough.

  He landed hard. Pain lanced up his calf, bright and tearing.

  He stayed upright anyway.

  ---

  They drifted back together twenty minutes later.

  Not in sync.

  Tony limped in last, jacket heavy with water, hammer still dripping. Arthur slumped on the curb, staff across his lap, eyes fixed on nothing. Lenny propped himself against a post, favoring one leg that refused full weight.

  Cameron counted heads.

  All present.

  “That went clean,” Tony said. “Mostly.”

  “Hospital held,” Arthur murmured.

  “No wrecks,” Lenny added.

  Cameron let the breath out slow.

  A woman across the street pointed.

  “Why weren’t you at my shop?” Her voice cracked open. “It’s flooded.”

  Tony started to answer.

  Cameron’s faint head?shake stopped him.

  More voices rose quiet at first, then overlapping. Questions. Demands. No screams, just the weight of what hadn’t been saved.

  Arthur’s tablet buzzed again.

  Another incident. Small. Too far.

  Not theirs to reach.

  Cameron felt the shift settle deeper.

  Not rage.

  Calculation.

  Somewhere, the system tallied choices.

  Not victories.

  Allocations.

  Arthur’s tablet buzzed again.

  Then stopped.

  Not resolved.

  Reprioritized.

  Tony’s jaw tightened. “That one wasn’t for us.”

  “No,” Cameron said.

  Another sound threaded the air — closer now. Still distant. Still not loud enough to justify intervention.

  Yet.

  Cameron felt the weight settle properly this time.

  Not rage.

  Sequencing.

  The city wasn’t done asking.

  It was narrowing the questions.

  The system logged the response.

  A new queue formed.

  Cameron shifted his grip on the staff.

  “Move,” he said.

  No one asked where.