When Annex Two descends to Vyr-Delta, the mission is simple on paper: observe, record, and leave without stirring dust. Yet the moment Elias steps onto the ashen streets, he senses something in the city’s veins. The hymns drifting from the cathedral do not stand alone—another tone hides beneath them, late by a breath, threading through the loudspeakers, the organ loft, and even the pipes of the hive itself. It is steady, patient, and wrong.

As Inquisitor Varra presses through gilded courtesies and guarded smiles, Elias finds himself marked by watching eyes—some awed, some wary, some already braced for tomorrow’s festival. In the choir loft, in the burners stacked for celebration, in the brass plates stamped like secret constellations, clues form a pattern that refuses to stay quiet.

The city prepares to kneel under one voice. Annex Two must learn whether that voice is truly their own… or something that has learned to sing through them.

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