The city didn't notice the fracture closing.
It noticed the afterimage.
By morning, the metro line reopened. News channels reported a "minor power disruption" and a "temporary ventilation failure" near the service tunnels.
No injuries.
No suspects.
No cause.
But Arav felt it the moment he stepped outside.
The air hadn't returned to normal.
Not wrong enough to alarm anyone — just off.
Like a room where someone had argued the night before.
Ira felt it too.
"People are irritable," she said, walking beside him. "Short-tempered. I've seen three arguments in ten minutes."
Tiku nodded vigorously. "A man almost fought a bus conductor over exact change. That's not natural."
Arav scanned the street.
Residual fear.
Not enough to form an entity.
Not enough to open a Gate.
But enough to linger.
"Residuals," he said quietly.
Ira frowned. "Residual what?"
"Unspent pressure," Arav replied. "When something tries to cross and fails, it leaves traces behind. Like a bruise."
She absorbed that.
"And those traces affect people?"
"Yes."
Tiku sighed. "Great. The city has emotional hangovers now."
At Night Ridge, the atmosphere was worse.
Students snapped at each other. Teachers rushed through lectures. The air felt compressed, like everyone was holding their breath without realizing it.
No shadows formed.
No distortions.
Just unease.
Arav stopped near the courtyard steps.
"This is what happens when fractures are allowed to close improperly," he said. "The system cleans the surface. Not the stress underneath."
Ira looked at him sharply. "You're saying yesterday wasn't contained."
"No," he said. "It was postponed."
The bell rang.
Too loud.
Too sharp.
A student near the entrance flinched and dropped her bag. Books scattered across the ground.
No one helped her.
That was new.
Arav moved instinctively, kneeling to gather the books. The girl murmured a quiet thanks and hurried off without meeting his eyes.
Ira watched the exchange, unsettled.
"People don't act like this," she said.
"They do," Arav replied. "When pressure builds and no one names it."
That evening, the reports changed tone.
Not about incidents.
About behavior.
Small fights.
Sudden panic attacks.
Unprovoked aggression.
Nothing dramatic enough to investigate.
Everything subtle enough to ignore.
Ira stared at her screen. "This won't make headlines."
"That's the point," Arav said.
Tiku paced the room. "So what, we just… wait? Until the city snaps?"
"No," Arav said slowly.
He felt the pull again — faint, directional.
Not toward a fracture.
Toward people.
"You can't absorb this," Ira said immediately. "You're not a filter."
"I'm not trying to be," Arav replied. "But if no one releases the pressure, it'll release itself."
She met his gaze. "And if the system notices?"
"They already have."
As if summoned by the thought, his awareness sharpened.
Not a warning.
A note.
Environmental Deviation Logged
Residual Influence : Rising
No directives followed.
No intervention.
Ira exhaled sharply. "They're letting it happen."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Arav thought of Rudra's words.
The system adjusts its tolerance.
"Because this isn't catastrophic yet," he said. "It's… informative."
Tiku stopped pacing. "We're data."
Arav didn't disagree.
Outside, the city hummed — restless, unaware of the pressure threading through its streets.
This wasn't an invasion.
It wasn't an attack.
It was what happened when cracks were treated as inconveniences instead of warnings.
And Arav understood something then, with unsettling clarity:
If this continued, the next fracture wouldn't hesitate.
It wouldn't test.
It would break.