The first order arrived disguised as advice.
A studio executive mentioned it casually over coffee.
"We're adjusting your appearance schedule," he said. "Just a minor reshuffle. Best for everyone."
"For whom?" Aria asked.
He smiled, already retreating. "Consensus."
---
A second directive came through a manager who swore it wasn't his idea.
"They want you to skip the panel," he said apologetically. "No reason given."
"Who's 'they'?" Noah asked.
The manager spread his hands. "I honestly don't know."
---
By evening, three more adjustments appeared.
A venue suddenly unavailable.
A journalist quietly reassigned.
A sponsor asking to "delay alignment."
No emails.
No signatures.
Just movement.
"These aren't requests," Noah said. "They're instructions."
"And no one thinks they're responsible," Aria said.
---
She traced the chain.
Each person believed the order came from someone above them.
Each link pointed upward—into fog.
"That's how it works," Noah said. "Authority without authorship."
Aria nodded. "So no one can be confronted."
---
A final message arrived that night.
We recommend cooperation.
No sender.
No channel header.
Just text.
Noah looked at her. "That's the closest thing to a threat so far."
"It's a reminder," Aria said. "That the system still expects obedience."
---
She typed a response.
Then deleted it.
Instead, she did nothing.
No appearance change.
No schedule shift.
No acknowledgment.
---
In a control interface somewhere, a status flickered.
Directive unfulfilled.
Source attribution: unclear.
For the first time, the system couldn't trace its own command.
Orders had been given.
No one had signed them.
And they hadn't been followed.