Oversight waited exactly eight hours before responding.
Not because they needed the time.
Because delay was part of the pressure.
At 02:13, every student interface received a background ping—not a message, not an alert. A system handshake. Silent confirmation that something had changed.
Dreyden felt it immediately.
Not as danger.
As realignment.
When systems recalibrated, they always tugged at the edges first—the permissions you forgot existed, the assumptions your habits relied on. Tiny things. Invisible to most.
He tested one.
A restricted training simulation he'd been accessing for weeks without incident.
Denied.
No error message.
Just absence.
"They're closing doors," Lucas said later, voice low as they walked the upper ring corridor. The city lights below were dim under morning haze, the Triangle's reflection layered faintly over them like a second grid.
"Yes," Dreyden replied. "But not slamming them."
Lucas frowned. "Why does that matter?"
