Burnout doesn't explode.
It settles.
It collects in quiet places.
In the space between sentences.
In the way you say "I'm fine" and mean "I'm functioning."
Mira noticed it first in herself.
Not dramatically.
Not in tears.
In silence.
She was speaking at a regional Council summit when she realized she was reciting policy like memory instead of conviction.
Her voice was steady.
Her posture perfect.
Her mind… elsewhere.
The applause at the end felt hollow.
Daniel approached her afterward.
"You're tired," he observed calmly.
"I'm busy," she corrected.
He studied her face for a second too long.
"Be careful," he said quietly.
"Of what?"
"Burning through trust faster than it can regenerate."
She didn't answer.
Because part of her feared he was right.
Across town, Adrian felt it too.
Not as fatigue.
As edge.
He found himself sharper in Coalition meetings.
Less patient with emotional arguments.
More technical.
More precise.
