The crowd didn't disperse after the corridor closed.
That was the first sign Kael had underestimated what he'd started.
They gathered instead—across the city, in pockets and intersections, at the edges of places that felt less safe than they had two days ago. Not violent. Not rioting.
Waiting.
Kael stood on the roof of a mid-rise building, watching the movement patterns settle into something uncomfortably deliberate.
"They're organizing," Rae said quietly beside him. "No leader. No signal spike. Just… convergence."
Mira leaned against the railing, jaw tight. "People don't wait like this unless they think someone owes them."
Kael didn't answer.
Because they were right.
The Wardens arrived at noon.
Not in force. Not in armor.
Three officers. No insignia visible. Cameras active.
"This is now a public matter," the lead Warden said calmly. "Your actions have exceeded quiet jurisdiction."
Kael frowned. "I didn't open a city."
"No," the Warden agreed. "You opened precedent."
Mira pushed off the railing. "Say what you actually mean."
The Warden met her gaze. "People think he can fix things."
Kael felt the words land like weight.
The confrontation happened in the plaza.
Kael hadn't planned it. Someone had simply started talking—and the city had listened.
A woman stood on the steps of a transit terminal, voice amplified not by tech, but by attention.
"My son crossed the corridor last night," she said. "He got medicine he couldn't get before. Today the route is gone."
Murmurs rippled.
A man stepped forward. "My shop was safe for the first time in months. Now the gangs are back."
Another voice cut in. "Because he closed it."
Kael felt his field tighten reflexively.
He stopped it.
Mira stepped forward instead.
"Enough," she said.
The crowd hesitated.
She didn't shout.
Didn't threaten.
"I've fought in places where chaos ruled," she continued. "And in places where order crushed people because it was convenient. Neither of those worlds were kind."
Her gaze swept the plaza. "You think he chooses who wins? He's been trying to choose who doesn't lose."
Silence followed.
Not agreement.
But attention.
A man laughed bitterly from the back. "Then why do some of us always pay first?"
Mira didn't dodge it. "Because change has momentum. And someone always stands where it hits."
Kael looked at her sharply.
She turned to him.
"You can't be invisible anymore," she said quietly. "They're not asking if you exist. They're asking what you're willing to answer for."
The truth of it settled deep.
The broker appeared at the edge of the crowd.
Not smiling this time.
"You see?" he called out. "No decision is neutral. No balance free."
Kael stepped forward at last.
He didn't raise his voice.
Didn't expand his field.
But the plaza settled around him anyway.
"I won't reopen the corridor," Kael said. "And I won't pretend closing it didn't hurt people."
Murmurs rose.
"I will build something better," he continued. "Not a gap. Not an exception. A system that doesn't rely on desperation to function."
The broker scoffed. "And until then?"
Kael met his gaze steadily. "Until then, I stay."
That drew real silence.
"I won't disappear when it goes wrong," Kael said. "If balance costs someone, I'll be there to pay with them."
Ashveil observed.
"Public accountability declared."
The Wardens exchanged glances.
This wasn't what they'd expected.
After the crowd dispersed, Mira found Kael alone near the plaza's edge.
"You didn't have to do that," she said.
"Yes," Kael replied. "I did."
She studied him for a long moment. "Good. Because if you hadn't, I would've dragged you back out there myself."
He smiled faintly. "You're terrifying when you're supportive."
She smirked. "Get used to it."
That night, the city didn't calm.
But it didn't fracture either.
It held.
Barely.
Kael stood at the center of it—not as a savior, not as a tyrant.
As a known quantity.
Ashveil spoke one last time before silence reclaimed the streets.
"You have accepted visibility."
Kael nodded.
"Then let's see who shows up next."
Far beyond the city, factions revised their models.
Because the question had changed.
It was no longer whether Kael Vorrin would shape the world.
It was whether the world could shape him back.