The call came just after sunset.
Not an alert.
Not a warning.
A message forwarded three times before it reached Ira's phone.
Something's wrong near the hostels.
Not violent. Just… not right.
Ira read it once, then again.
She didn't look at Arav immediately.
That was how he knew.
They reached the courtyard behind the girls' hostel to find a small crowd gathered in an uneasy half-circle.
No shouting.
No chaos.
Just silence broken by murmurs.
At the center, a boy sat on the ground, knees pulled to his chest, eyes unfocused.
His shadow wavered.
Not splitting.
Not detaching.
Looping.
Arav felt the pressure behind his eyes spike instantly.
The Ajna response came uninvited.
Options unfolded.
Not instructions.
Outcomes.
He could narrow the loop.
Collapse interpretation.
Restore coherence.
He knew exactly how.
Ira stepped closer, then stopped.
"Arav," she said quietly. "This isn't a Gate event."
"I know."
"And it's not fear," she continued. "It's… confusion."
Arav swallowed.
The boy was whispering now.
"I did the right thing," he said to no one.
"I did the right thing."
Each repetition tightened the loop.
Tiku tugged Arav's sleeve.
"You can fix this," he whispered. "Right?"
Arav didn't answer.
Because the truth was heavier than silence.
Inside his head, the system logged automatically.
Interpretive Loop Detected
Severity: Escalating
Intervention Possible
Possible.
Not required.
Arav took a step forward.
Then stopped.
He saw it clearly now.
If he intervened:
the loop would collapse
the boy would recover
no one would question how
And a choice would be made for him.
Again.
The boy's breathing grew erratic.
A faculty member arrived, flustered.
"Give him space," she said nervously. "He's having a breakdown."
Security followed.
Not containment.
Procedure.
They didn't see the loop.
They didn't know what they were missing.
Ira looked at Arav.
Her eyes searched his face.
"Are you going to do something?" she asked.
Arav's voice came out hoarse.
"No."
The word fell between them like a dropped glass.
The boy screamed suddenly.
Not loud.
Raw.
Then his body went slack.
Unconscious.
The loop collapsed on its own — violently, imperfectly.
People rushed forward.
Someone called for medical help.
The crowd broke apart, shaken.
Arav stood frozen.
The pressure behind his eyes faded slowly.
Not relieved.
Satisfied.
That was worse.
Later, alone, Ira confronted him.
"He could have been spared," she said quietly.
"Yes," Arav replied.
"You chose not to."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Arav met her gaze.
"Because if I decide for him," he said,
"then the next time it'll be easier."
Ira's voice trembled. "And this time?"
"This time," Arav said, "someone paid the cost instead of the world."
The words tasted wrong in his mouth.
Inside him, something shifted.
Not power.
Conviction.
And regret.
Elsewhere, Devavrata Rathod read the incident report.
"No anomaly," it concluded. "Psychological episode."
Devavrata closed the file.
"That," he said quietly,
"is why Ajna awakenings don't get second chances."
Rhea felt it too.
The refusal.
The restraint.
She tilted her head, intrigued.
"So," she murmured,
"you can choose not to be kind."
For the first time, her interest sharpened into something else.
Respect.
Arav sat alone long into the night.
He hadn't acted.
He hadn't rewritten reality.
And yet, the weight of that decision pressed heavier than any power he'd ever used.
Because now he knew the truth:
Sometimes restraint didn't prevent harm.
It just decided who bore it.