The week passed without incident, and that was how Arjun knew something was changing.
Nothing interrupted his schedule. No one checked on his workload. No subtle corrections appeared in his calendar. The system had concluded that he was stable.
Stability, he realized, was not the absence of pressure. It was the absence of deviation.
On Thursday afternoon, he was asked to join a cross functional review. The request came casually, forwarded by his manager with a short note. "Sit in if you have time."
He had time. He always did now.
The meeting involved a proposed internal restructuring. Nothing dramatic. A few reporting lines shifted. A department absorbed into another. The language was careful and optimistic. Words like efficiency and alignment were used often enough to sound sincere.
One slide caught his attention.
A senior role was being dissolved. The responsibilities would be redistributed across three teams. The individual currently holding the position would be transitioning out due to personal reasons.
No name. No date. Just a footnote.
Arjun felt a familiar tightening. He did not ask questions. He listened.
During the discussion, someone mentioned the importance of early support. Another spoke about risk mitigation. A third praised leadership for handling the situation sensitively.
When the meeting ended, Arjun closed his laptop and stayed seated for a moment. The pattern was no longer theoretical. It was repeating itself in front of him, unhidden, because no one believed it could be seen.
That evening, he received a message from the person whose role was being dissolved.
"Hey, random question," the message read. "Did you know this was coming?"
Arjun stared at the screen.
He typed, deleted, then typed again.
"I heard there were discussions," he wrote. "But nothing concrete."
The reply came a few minutes later.
"Yeah," the person wrote. "They said it is about health. Stress. Maybe they are right. I have not been sleeping well."
Arjun set the phone down.
Later that night, Shreya found him standing by the window.
"You look like you are carrying something," she said.
"I am," Arjun replied. "But I am not sure it is mine."
He told her about the meeting. About the unnamed role. About the message.
"They are already framing his exit," Shreya said. "Before he understands it himself."
"Is that unethical?" Arjun asked.
She thought for a moment. "It depends on whether you believe autonomy includes the right to misinterpret your own collapse."
The sentence stayed with him long after she went to sleep.
The next morning, Meera sent him an article link.
A senior executive had stepped down for personal health reasons. The piece praised the organization for prioritizing well being. It quoted an unnamed advisor who spoke about responsible transitions.
The timeline matched the slide.
Meera followed up with a message.
"I did not write this," she added. "But I recognize the language."
Arjun did not respond.
At work, he watched as preparations unfolded quietly. Tasks reassigned. Access adjusted. Meetings canceled and replaced with one on ones. The individual at the center of it all remained unaware, still attending calls, still planning for next quarter.
By the end of the day, Arjun understood something new.
The system did not wait for breakdowns.
It anticipated them.
That evening, he opened the notebook again, even though he had promised himself he would not.
Prediction is power disguised as care.
He closed it immediately.
For the first time, the question that surfaced was not about what the system was doing.
It was about what it expected him to do next.
Because he could see the outcome forming.
And choosing to do nothing no longer felt neutral.