Late afternoon light rested on Sunset Peak.
Austin sat on the lodge porch with tea. Pug lay beside him, one head on Austin’s sock and the other two dreaming of jerky.
Below, the last tour groups left through the plaza. The weekly count remained 16,800 paid admissions. No extra tickets had been sold. The gift shop’s plain labels still faced the door.
Guang Ming and Wu Nian walked toward the staff rooms with their brooms. Ling Yue carried a folder of cooling diagrams. Their eighty-two-day contracts had not ended, and none of them pretended that every old enemy had become a friend. Elder Chen’s latest letter still called Austin a danger worth watching.
Austin set the letter aside and opened his builder ledger.
Nine floors were working. Dungeon tourism paid for maintenance. Nobody had bolted a single pagoda to its foundation. Former crusade leaders were employed by choice. The public knew what a ticket did and did not include.
Then the single pulse in his chest became two.
System text filled his vision.
