It started with a low hum.
Lucen didn't move.
The envelope still sat on the desk. Unopened. Quiet. Heavy.
Then came the second sound.
Louder. Lower. A vibration deep enough to rattle the cup on the edge of the desk.
He looked toward the window.
Didn't get up.
The third sound wasn't subtle.
It was a crack. A snap of concrete, followed by the kind of echo that didn't bounce, it spread.
Lucen stood.
Moved to the window. Pulled the curtain aside.
He didn't blink.
Down the block, just past the transit junction, a streetlight cracked in half. The pole folded sideways. Pavement swelled and cracked.
Then the air above it shimmered.
A tear.
He knew the shape.
Knew the way the edges moved like they were resisting being real.
Drift break.
This one didn't form like the stable ones. No core pulse. No glyph anchor. Just a rip. Raw. Ugly. Wrong.
And it was open.
Figures were pouring out.
