The archivists went silent.
No new messages. No data drops. No encrypted pings.
Mara waited a day.
Then two.
On the third night, she returned to the underground station.
It was empty.
Too empty.
No lights. No signs of recent activity. Even the graffiti looked older somehow, colors dulled as if time had accelerated in that space.
She found a single mark on the concrete wall.
A shallow scratch, like it had been etched in a hurry.
STOP LOOKING
Mara touched the mark with trembling fingers.
They hadn't disappeared.
They'd been erased.
A realization settled over her, cold and heavy.
She wasn't just investigating the system anymore.
She was inside its correction cycle.
And whatever came next would not be subtle.