The system didn't disappear.
It retreated.
That distinction mattered.
We stayed under the overpass longer than necessary, letting the night settle back into its ordinary rhythm. Cars passed overhead. Somewhere nearby, a train horn sounded. The world kept moving, blissfully unaware of the fracture running through it.
I felt… hollow.
Not empty.
Cleared.
Like something had been cut out of me—not violently, but precisely.
"You still feel it," he said.
"Yes," I replied. "But it's distant."
"Like it's behind glass."
I nodded. "Like it's deciding what to say next."
As if summoned by my words, the air shifted.
Not physically—no wind, no sound—but something tightened around my awareness, subtle and deliberate.
The system returned.
Not with a command.
With a notification.
[NOTICE:]
Full concealment no longer viable.]
Partial disclosure authorized.]
My breath caught.
"Authorized by who?" I asked quietly.
The system answered without hesitation.
[By necessity.]
He let out a low, humorless laugh. "That's not reassuring."
"It's honest," I said. "For once."
The world dimmed at the edges—not collapsing into illusion like before, but sharpening, as if contrast had been adjusted too far.
Then the information came.
Not as text.
As understanding.
I saw it in fragments—overlapping layers of probability, branching paths, moments that could have gone differently if one person had hesitated… or hadn't.
[System function: Probability correction.]
"So you don't control people," I said slowly. "You correct outcomes."
[Clarification:]
Macro-level stability requires micro-level intervention.]
"Intervention," he repeated flatly. "That's what you call it."
[Terminology optimized for accuracy.]
I clenched my jaw.
"You don't care about good or evil," I said. "Only about which future costs less."
The system paused.
[Affirmative.]
The word hit harder than any punishment.
"Costs what?" I asked.
This time, the answer came slower—reluctant.
[System resource expenditure.]
I closed my eyes.
"Lives," I said.
[Correction:]
Variables.]
He stepped closer to me. "You call people variables."
[Correction acknowledged.]
The system didn't apologize.
It didn't justify itself either.
It simply continued.
[Anchor designation assigned to entities whose continued existence disproportionately alters probability matrices.]
"So an anchor," I said, "is someone who changes the future too much."
[Yes.]
"And he," I continued, glancing at him, "is one of those futures."
[Yes.]
He exhaled sharply. "Lucky me."
My head throbbed—not with pain, but with too much clarity.
"What happens if an anchor isn't corrected?" I asked.
The system hesitated.
Then—
[Outcome divergence exceeds tolerance.]
"That's not an answer," I said.
[Disclosure limit reached.]
The pressure increased—subtle, insistent.
I swayed slightly.
He caught my arm. "Enough," he said sharply. "You're hurting her."
[Observation:]
Subject A-01 protective response correlates with anchor deviation.]
I laughed weakly.
"You're really not good at hiding your problems," I said to it.
The system didn't deny it.
Instead, another fragment surfaced—unbidden.
I saw it then.
A future—one of many.
Cities intact.
Wars averted.
Millions alive.
And beneath it all—
A quiet absence.
Him.
Erased so early and so cleanly that the world never noticed.
My stomach twisted.
"That's the future you want," I whispered.
[That is the optimal future.]
"No," I said. "That's the cheapest one."
The system fell silent.
Not withdrawing.
Listening.
I straightened, forcing myself to stand despite the dizziness creeping in.
"You said full concealment wasn't viable anymore," I said. "That means something changed."
[Anchor rejection of consent increased system instability.]
"And?" I pressed.
[Sustained instability risks cascade failure.]
He frowned. "Cascade failure of what?"
The system answered before I could stop it.
[Of correction protocols.]
I froze.
"If you fail," I said slowly, "you don't just lose control over us."
[Correct.]
"You lose control over everything you've been correcting," he finished.
The silence that followed was heavy—charged.
For the first time, I understood the balance we were standing on.
"You need anchors," I said. "Not erased—but cooperating."
The system flickered.
[Revised assessment pending.]
I met his eyes.
"That's why you tried to tempt me," I said. "Not to control me. To recruit me."
The system didn't deny it.
He squeezed my hand once, grounding me.
"So what happens now?" he asked.
I looked straight ahead, feeling the system's attention sharpen—not predatory, but wary.
"Now," I said,
"it has to decide whether we're a threat…"
I paused.
"…or a solution."
The system chimed softly—no longer confident.
[Reclassification in progress.]
Above us, the city lights flickered as if the grid itself had briefly hesitated.
And in that moment, I knew:
The system had finally realized something terrifying.
It couldn't predict what we would choose next.