Minh Truong did not notice the message arrive.
Because it didn't arrive as data.
It arrived as timing.
At exactly 22:47, the streetlight outside his apartment flickered twice—once too fast, once too slow. The pattern didn't repeat. That was the signal.
He didn't ask how he knew.
He only grabbed his jacket and left.
The location was an abandoned parking structure near the river. Five floors. No cameras that still worked. No cell signal beyond the first ramp.
A blind zone.
But a fragile one.
Minh Truong stepped inside and felt the interface thin immediately. Lifespans still appeared—but sluggish, as if dragged through resistance.
He counted three presences before he saw anyone.
Not by sound.
By absence.
Three people stood near the center of the second floor.
Two men. One woman.
None of them had lifespans.
The system did not attempt to correct.
"Relax," the woman said calmly. "If it were watching properly, we wouldn't be standing here."
Minh Truong stopped ten meters away.
"You cleared a blind zone," he said. "That costs."
One of the men nodded. "Which is why we don't stay long."
The other tilted his head slightly. "You're louder than we expected."
Minh Truong felt the pressure spike faintly—then recede.
"Because I'm not invisible," Minh Truong replied. "I'm inconsistent."
The woman smiled thinly. "That's worse."
They didn't exchange names.
Not yet.
Names created records.
Records created trails.
Instead, the woman spoke again.
"We've been watching the system longer than you," she said. "Not directly. Through losses."
Minh Truong's jaw tightened. "You clean up after it."
"No," the first man corrected. "We survive its adjustments."
The second man stepped forward half a pace. "And you triggered the last one."
Silence stretched.
Minh Truong didn't deny it.
"That blind zone wasn't safe anymore," he said. "It was becoming a hub."
"And hubs get erased," the woman finished. "We know."
She studied him closely now. "You didn't cause the cleanup. You accelerated the decision."
"That doesn't make it better," Minh Truong said.
"No," she agreed. "But it makes you relevant."
A distant hum vibrated through the structure—low, barely audible.
All four of them felt it.
The woman raised a hand.
"Contact window closing," she said.
Minh Truong focused. The interface pulsed weakly—observer pressure rising, but not locking on.
The system was circling.
"Why contact me?" Minh Truong asked quickly.
The first man answered. "Because you're visible enough to draw attention—"
"And unstable enough," the second added, "to bend it."
The woman met Minh Truong's gaze.
"We don't want a leader," she said.
"We want a fault line."
The hum intensified for a brief moment—then faded.
The pressure eased.
The system backed off.
For now.
The three anomalies stepped away, already dissolving into different exits, different shadows.
The woman paused once more.
"If you keep acting alone," she said, "you'll be removed."
"And if I join you?" Minh Truong asked.
She considered the question.
"Then we all become more expensive," she said. "Which buys time."
She disappeared.
Minh Truong remained alone in the parking structure, interface barely stable.
He understood the offer.
Not alliance.
Not safety.
Mutual escalation.
Vol 1 had taught him how to survive being observed.
Vol 2 was teaching him something far more dangerous:
How to exist when observation itself had a cost.