Maya didn't hesitate this time.
Fear still lingered at the edges of her thoughts, but it no longer ruled her. The first test had shattered denial. The second would erase doubt.
She stood by the window as the morning light crept across the city, phone in hand, pulse steadying with deliberate control. If this system responded to spending, then scale mattered. Context mattered.
She opened a dealership website—nothing excessive, nothing absurd. An executive sedan. Reliable. Sensible. The kind of car she'd once planned to buy after a promotion.
Price: $90,000.
She inhaled once, deeply, then tapped Confirm.
The purchase processed instantly.
The chime returned—clearer this time, resonating through her chest like a struck bell.
Maya froze.
Outside, somewhere below, an engine rumbled to life.
Her heart jumped.
She crossed the living room in three long strides and pushed open the balcony door. Cool air rushed in, carrying the scent of morning and the faint echo of the city waking up.
She leaned over the railing and looked down.
Her breath left her in a rush.
In her parking space sat a car that did not belong there—sleek, midnight blue, its lines sharp and unmistakably rare. Sunlight caught on its polished surface, reflecting in hard, brilliant flashes.
It was not an executive sedan.
It was a supercar.
Maya's hands tightened on the railing as her phone vibrated again.
REWARD DISPENSED.
LIMITED EDITION VEHICLE ACQUIRED.
MARKET VALUE: $4.2 MILLION.
Her mind reeled.
"That's… not proportional," she whispered.
The system did not respond.
Slowly, she straightened, her gaze fixed on the car below. People passed it on the sidewalk, some pausing, some pointing, unaware that the vehicle had appeared out of nowhere less than a minute ago.
There was no delivery truck. No explanation.
Just result.
Her pulse thundered—not with fear now, but with clarity.
This wasn't generosity.
It was multiplication.
Maya stepped back into the apartment, closing the balcony door behind her. The space felt different now—charged, alert, as if it recognized her as something more than a passive occupant.
She paced the living room, thoughts racing.
It doesn't give what I buy.
It gives more.
Always more.
Her phone buzzed again, but this time it wasn't the system.
A text from Brandon.
Brandon: We need to talk.
Her jaw tightened.
She stared at the message for a long moment, then locked the screen without replying. Yesterday, that text would have unraveled her. Now it felt… distant. Irrelevant.
She returned to the window and looked out over the city.
"This changes everything," she murmured.
The system remained silent, but its presence pressed gently at the edges of her awareness, like a sleeping giant that had acknowledged her existence and chosen not to intervene.
Yet.
Maya picked up her notebook from the dining table and opened it to a blank page. Her handwriting was neat, precise, controlled.
She wrote:
Rule One: Spending triggers reward.
Rule Two: Reward exceeds expenditure.
Rule Three: Rarity and value scale upward.
She paused, pen hovering.
"This isn't chaos," she said quietly. "It's design."
Her reflection stared back at her from the darkened window—eyes clearer now, posture straighter. The woman who had collapsed on the floor the night before felt like a different version of herself.
Not gone.
But evolving.
Maya capped the pen.
"If you exist," she said to the quiet air, "then you have logic."
She turned back to her phone.
"One more test."