We didn't speak until we were inside the car.
He locked the doors the moment we got in, fingers moving with sharp, practiced efficiency. The engine started, headlights cutting through the smoke-filled street as we pulled away from the burning building.
Only when the chaos faded into the distance did he finally speak.
"Anchor," he said.
The word hung between us.
"That man called you an anchor."
I stared straight ahead, my reflection pale in the windshield.
"Yes."
He glanced at me, jaw tight. "You're not denying it."
"No," I said quietly. "Because he wasn't guessing."
The system remained silent.
Too silent.
"That wasn't a mugger," he continued. "Not even a hired killer. He didn't panic. Didn't chase. He disengaged the moment conditions changed."
I swallowed.
"He was testing us."
"Us," he repeated. "So I'm part of it now."
I nodded.
He exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel harder. "Then start talking."
I closed my eyes.
The pain didn't come.
That was confirmation enough.
"There's a system," I said. "It controls my survival. It assigns missions."
"And tonight?" he asked.
"Tonight wasn't a mission," I replied. "It was a correction."
The car was silent except for the hum of the engine.
"A correction for what?" he asked.
"For you."
The words tasted like ash.
The system flickered—visually this time—text glitching briefly at the edge of my vision before vanishing again.
[Instability detected.]
He noticed my flinch.
"It reacts when you tell the truth," he said.
"Yes."
"Then keep going."
I hesitated.
"Not everything," he added quietly. "Just enough."
Enough to survive.
"They don't like variables," I said. "People who change outcomes. People who shouldn't exist—or shouldn't matter."
His eyes narrowed. "And I'm one of those."
"Yes."
The car slowed as we approached a red light.
That was when I felt it again.
The gaze.
"Don't stop," I said sharply.
He reacted instantly, pressing the accelerator, blowing straight through the intersection.
A second later, a black sedan slid silently out of a side street—too close, too precise.
"If we'd stopped…" he muttered.
"They would've had another 'accident,'" I said.
The system chimed faintly—too late to be a warning.
[Threat escalation acknowledged.]
"Is that another one?" he asked.
"Not yet," I said. "That one was watching."
Watching us run.
He took a sharp turn, then another, deliberately breaking any predictable pattern. The black sedan didn't follow.
For now.
We drove in silence for several minutes before he spoke again.
"The man earlier," he said. "He knew what you were. And he wasn't surprised."
"He's done this before," I said.
"With you?"
"No," I replied. "With others."
The system reacted then—harder than it had all night.
[Unauthorized inference detected.]
Pain flared briefly behind my eyes.
I gasped—but forced myself to keep talking.
"There have been other anchors," I said through clenched teeth. "People tied to variables. People who… interfered."
The pain receded.
"Interfered how?" he asked.
"By keeping someone alive," I said. "By choosing wrong."
The car slowed as he pulled into an underground parking garage. The concrete swallowed the sound of the city above us.
We sat there, engine idling.
"So what happens to them?" he asked.
I opened my mouth.
The system hesitated.
Actually hesitated.
[Response pending.]
I laughed softly, bitter and hollow. "That's new."
"What is?"
"It doesn't want to answer that."
I looked at him.
"They don't survive," I said. "Not for long."
Silence fell.
Then he did something unexpected.
He turned off the engine.
The sudden quiet felt deafening.
"They sent someone," he said calmly. "They tried to kill me. They hurt you to do it."
He turned to face me fully.
"That means we stop reacting."
My heart skipped. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said evenly, "if this system runs on predictions, then we become unpredictable."
The system screamed.
[Strategic deviation detected.]
He smiled faintly.
"That sound," he said. "That means I'm right."
I stared at him.
"You're not afraid," I said.
"I am," he corrected. "I just don't like being controlled."
He leaned closer, voice low and deliberate.
"They have rules," he said. "And people enforcing them."
"Yes."
"Then we learn the rules," he continued. "And we break them one by one."
The system flickered violently.
[Critical instability.]
A new message forced itself into my vision—raw, unfiltered, unlike anything before.
[NOTICE:]
Anchor deviation exceeding tolerance.]
Primary objective compromised.]
I felt a chill run through me.
Primary objective.
Not survival.
Not balance.
Something else.
He noticed my reaction instantly. "What did it say?"
I met his eyes.
"I think," I said slowly,
"we were never meant to survive this long."
The garage lights flickered overhead.
And somewhere deep inside the system—
Something recalculated.