Aren didn't go home immediately.
That alone marked a deviation.
In the original timeline, he would have returned to his room after classes, complained about exhaustion, half-watched a video while scrolling through his phone, and ignored the vague unease gnawing at the back of his mind.
Today, he walked.
Not aimlessly—never aimlessly—but without a clear destination. The campus paths were crowded, students flowing past him in loose clusters, their conversations overlapping into a constant murmur. Laughter broke out near the fountain. Someone argued loudly into a phone about a missed deadline.
Life continued.
Aren felt detached from it, as if he were walking through a preserved exhibit of a world already extinct.
The Maximizer System stayed silent.
That silence pressed on him more heavily than any warning.
It meant things were in motion now—beyond simple projections.
He crossed the street at the edge of campus and slowed near a small public park. Children ran across the grass, chased by an exhausted-looking man who laughed as he pretended to stumble. A woman sat on a bench feeding birds, humming softly to herself.
Aren stopped.
His chest tightened.
They don't know.
The thought wasn't new, but today it carried weight. A sense of responsibility he hadn't fully felt before.
Ten years ago, he had been a nobody when the Collapse began. One voice among millions, easily drowned out. Even later, when he learned how badly early warnings had been mishandled, he'd told himself there was nothing he could have done.
That excuse didn't hold anymore.
His phone vibrated.
He looked down instantly.
Not news.
A call.
Unknown number.
Aren stared at the screen for a full second before answering.
"Hello?"
"Aren Vale," a calm voice said. Not a question.
Aren straightened slightly. "Yes."
"This is Dr. Kessler. Applied Physics Department."
Aren's grip tightened.
One of the researchers.
"We'd like to ask you a few questions," Dr. Kessler continued. "Nothing formal. Just clarification."
Aren exhaled slowly through his nose.
"About the anomaly," he said.
A pause. Barely perceptible.
"Yes."
"I'm off campus," Aren replied. "But I can come back."
"That won't be necessary," Kessler said. "Where are you now?"
Aren glanced around the park.
Public place. Open space.
"Near the west entrance," he said.
"Good," Kessler replied. "Stay there. Someone will meet you."
The call ended.
Aren lowered the phone.
The Maximizer System flickered into view immediately.
[Attention Threshold Exceeded][Host visibility increased: SIGNIFICANT]
"So it begins," Aren muttered.
He sat on a nearby bench, posture relaxed despite the tension coiling in his gut. He forced his breathing to remain steady.
Panic wouldn't help.
Drawing attention through erratic behavior wouldn't either.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
A black sedan pulled up along the curb, quiet and unmarked. No insignia. No flashing lights.
The door opened.
A woman stepped out.
She was in her late thirties, maybe early forties, dressed casually—jeans, jacket, no visible badge. Her movements were precise without being stiff. Her eyes swept the area once before settling on Aren.
She approached.
"Aren Vale?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I'm Lena Park," she said. "May I sit?"
Aren nodded.
She sat beside him, leaving a polite amount of space between them.
"You caused a bit of excitement today," she said lightly.
"That wasn't my intention."
"No," Lena agreed. "It rarely is."
Aren waited.
Silence stretched—not uncomfortable, but deliberate.
Finally, Lena spoke again. "You noticed something before trained specialists did. That's… unusual."
"I got lucky," Aren said.
She smiled faintly. "People who say that usually aren't."
Aren met her gaze. Her eyes were sharp, observant.
Not academic.
Operational.
"What happens next?" Aren asked.
"That depends," Lena replied, "on whether today was a coincidence—or a pattern."
The Maximizer System pulsed.
[High-Stakes Interaction Detected][Recommended approach: CAUTION]
Aren chose his words carefully.
"I don't have special equipment," he said. "No access to restricted data. I just recognized a pattern I'd seen before."
"Where?" Lena asked.
"In published research," Aren replied smoothly. "Fragmented reports. Anomalous readings dismissed as noise."
Not a lie.
Just incomplete.
Lena studied him for a long moment.
"Hypothetically," she said, "if similar anomalies appeared again—elsewhere—would you notice?"
Aren hesitated just long enough to appear thoughtful.
"Yes," he said.
Lena nodded once. "Then we'd like to keep in touch."
She reached into her pocket and handed him a card.
No logo.
Just a name and a number.
"This isn't a recruitment," she added. "Not yet."
Aren accepted the card.
"What is it, then?"
"A precaution," Lena said, standing. "One we hope we won't need."
She turned back to the car, then paused.
"And Aren?"
"Yes?"
Her eyes hardened slightly.
"If you're wrong about this… nothing happens."
"And if I'm right?" Aren asked.
Lena's expression didn't change.
"Then everything does."
She left.
The sedan pulled away silently.
Aren remained seated, staring at the card in his hand.
The Maximizer System refreshed.
[Authority Awareness: CONFIRMED][Future volatility increased][Survival probability: +0.012%]
Still small.
Still fragile.
But growing.
Aren closed his fingers around the card and stood.
The sun was beginning to dip, casting longer shadows across the park. The children were gone now. The birds scattered as someone jogged past.
Normal life was thinning.
He walked home as evening settled in.
Marcus was already there, sprawled on the couch, half-asleep with the TV on.
"You disappear all day and don't even text?" Marcus muttered. "Rude."
"Sorry," Aren said. "Got caught up."
Marcus glanced at him, then frowned. "You alright?"
Aren paused.
This was one of those moments.
A fork he remembered well.
Ten years ago, he'd shrugged it off.
"Yeah," Aren said. "Just tired."
Marcus nodded, unconvinced but not pressing.
Later that night, as the city lights flickered on, Aren sat at his desk and opened his laptop.
He didn't browse news sites.
He pulled archived databases.
Scientific forums.
Obscure journals.
Anything that logged anomalies without judgment.
The Maximizer System hovered quietly, offering no prompts.
Hours passed.
Patterns emerged.
Not clear ones.
But enough.
Aren leaned back, rubbing his eyes.
It's accelerating.
Earlier than before.
Not faster—earlier.
He closed the laptop.
Outside, a low rumble echoed faintly in the distance.
Not thunder.
Not construction.
Aren stood and went to the window.
The sky was clear.
Too clear.
His phone buzzed once more.
BREAKING UPDATE: Multiple institutions report synchronized sensor irregularities. Officials reiterate no cause for alarm.
Aren's reflection stared back at him in the glass.
Calm.
Focused.
Resolved.
"They're lying again," he said quietly.
The Maximizer System pulsed.
[No contradiction detected.]
Aren exhaled slowly.
He had crossed the first line.
There would be no going back to anonymity.
And for the first time since returning—
He was okay with that.