The summons came without notification.
No system ping.
No administrative banner.
Just a knock.
Three times. Even. Patient.
Dreyden was already awake when it came.
He didn't say "come in."
The door unlocked from the outside.
That told him everything.
Not Oversight.
Not standard enforcement.
Higher.
The man who entered wore no insignia.
No sleeve markings. No badge projection.
Just a clean uniform and the posture of someone who had never once needed to explain why he was standing somewhere.
"Walk with me," the man said calmly.
Not a request.
Dreyden stood.
"No escort?"
"I am the escort."
That confirmed it.
Not containment.
Conversation.
They walked through side corridors, away from public wings. Not toward Oversight's visible administrative tower. Away from it.
Basement level.
Old infrastructure.
Older than the Triangle aesthetic.
Concrete walls. Thicker doors.
No projection panels.
Analog security locks.
The man stopped outside a steel door.
