Arav didn't sleep.
Not because of fear.
Because of clarity.
The footage from the metro replayed in his mind—not the shadow, not the man collapsing—but the moment before containment moved in.
The pause.
The crowd hesitating.
People looking at each other instead of waiting for instructions.
That was new.
That was dangerous.
By morning, the narrative had stabilized.
Lighting malfunction.
Stress response.
No verified anomaly.
But the comments didn't quiet the way they were supposed to.
They circled.
They compared.
They disagreed politely.
And polite disagreement was the system's least favorite sound.
Ira spread printouts across the table.
"They're not deleting posts anymore," she said. "They're burying them."
Arav nodded. "Deletion admits presence. Burial preserves doubt."
Tiku rubbed his eyes. "So… the truth is trending downward?"
"Yes," Arav replied. "Which means it's still visible."
The summons came at noon.
Not a message.
Not a call.
A request delivered through three unrelated channels, each word identical.
Your cooperation is advised.
No location.
No time.
Just inevitability.
Devavrata Rathod didn't need to add anything else.
Arav stood.
Ira looked up sharply. "You're not going."
"I am."
"That's not cooperation," she said. "That's compliance."
Arav shook his head.
"No," he said. "It's acknowledgment."
Tiku frowned. "Of what?"
"That they can't erase me anymore," Arav replied. "And that pretending I'm invisible is costing them control."
He picked up his jacket.
"If I hide now," he continued, "they'll close ranks. Consolidate. Purge quietly."
Ira's jaw tightened. "And if you don't?"
"They'll have to engage me publicly."
Silence followed.
Not agreement.
Understanding.
The meeting took place in an ordinary conference room.
Glass walls.
Neutral lighting.
No symbols.
Devavrata sat alone at the table.
"You're late," he said mildly.
"I wasn't scheduled," Arav replied.
Devavrata studied him for a moment.
"Visibility is not strength," he said. "It's liability."
"I know," Arav replied. "That's why I'm choosing it."
Devavrata exhaled slowly.
"You think this gives you leverage."
"No," Arav said. "It gives them accountability."
Devavrata folded his hands.
"The system doesn't like unpredictability," he said. "And you're becoming difficult to classify."
"Good," Arav said.
"That wasn't approval."
"I didn't ask for it."
For the first time, Devavrata smiled.
Not kindly.
Not cruelly.
Tired.
Inside Arav's head, the system shifted.
Not alarmed.
Alert.
Visibility Threshold Exceeded
Engagement Mode: Direct
No warning.
No restriction.
Just acknowledgment.
The quiet kind.
The dangerous kind.
Outside, students passed by the glass walls.
Some glanced in.
Some recognized him.
Some didn't.
But the room no longer felt sealed.
The boundary between containment and reality had thinned.
Devavrata stood.
"You understand what comes next?" he asked.
"Yes," Arav said.
"Say it."
Arav met his gaze.
"They stop managing incidents," he said. "And start managing me."
Devavrata nodded once.
"Then we're done here."
Arav stepped back into the open air.
The city didn't react.
That was the point.
No alarms.
No chaos.
Just the quiet recalibration of attention.
Somewhere in the layered machinery of control, a decision was being rewritten.
Not to erase him.
To engage him.
And in the spaces between memory and perception, something watched with renewed interest.
Because once visibility became a choice…
Containment had lost its safest option.