They collected the band at 07:12.
Not with ceremony.
Not with accusation.
A junior administrative aide knocked on my door and stood there holding a small black case like he was returning borrowed lab equipment.
"Integrity monitor retrieval," he said.
"Did it record anything interesting?" I asked.
His eyes flicked up briefly. Too briefly.
"All session data has been archived."
"Archived where?"
He hesitated.
"Administrative review."
"That's vague."
He didn't smile. Didn't react. Just waited.
I unclipped the band from my desk and placed it in the case.
"Tell them I prefer clearer labels," I said.
He nodded like that meant nothing, closed the case, and left.
It was the quiet retrieval that mattered.
If they'd accused me, it would've meant escalation.
If they'd praised me, it would've meant absorption.
Instead, they chose… normal.
Normal was the most dangerous move in an institutional playbook.
Because normal pretends nothing changed.
But something had.
