The room didn't feel different.
That was what unsettled Arav the most.
No alarms.
No pressure shift.
No diagnostic response pressing against the inside of his skull.
Just a quiet, ordinary room—sunlight slanting through the windows, dust drifting lazily in the air like nothing had happened.
Like nothing ever happened.
Ira sat on the edge of the desk, her camera resting face-down beside her. She hadn't touched it since they came in.
Tiku leaned against the wall, arms folded, unusually quiet.
Arav stood near the window, staring out at the campus.
Students crossed the courtyard below—laughing, arguing, scrolling through their phones. A group clustered near the vending machines. Someone tripped on the steps and swore loudly.
Life, uninterrupted.
"You notice it too, right?" Ira said.
Arav didn't turn. "Notice what?"
She gestured vaguely toward the window. "How easy it is for everything to just… keep going."
Tiku snorted. "That's humanity's superpower. Collective denial."
No one laughed.
Ira exhaled slowly. "They talked about erasure. About containment. About deciding who gets to keep their memories like it was filing paperwork."
She paused.
"And then they just… left."
Arav finally turned.
"They didn't leave," he said. "They stepped back."
"That's worse," Tiku muttered. "People who step back are planning something."
Ira looked between them. "So what happens now?"
That question landed heavier than it should have.
Because for the first time since this started, there was no immediate threat to answer it.
No entity clawing its way through the walls.
No alarms.
No countdown.
Just space.
Arav closed his eyes briefly.
Inside, there was no system voice.
No diagnostic overlay.
No warning.
Only the echo of Devavrata's words.
Visibility reduced. Monitoring increased.
Control without presence.
"I think," Arav said carefully, "they're waiting to see what I do."
Tiku frowned. "That's it? That's the plan? Observation mode?"
"They're measuring restraint," Arav replied. "Whether I comply without being told to."
Ira's jaw tightened. "And if you don't?"
"Then I become a problem."
Silence stretched.
Ira picked up her camera, turning it over in her hands. "They talked about people like variables. Like trends that needed correcting."
She looked up. "Is that how they see you?"
Arav didn't answer immediately.
Because the honest answer wasn't comforting.
"I think," he said slowly, "that they see me as something that hasn't decided what it is yet."
Tiku huffed. "Great. Schrödinger's Sorcerer."
Ira almost smiled. Almost.
She stood, crossing the room until she was beside Arav at the window.
"Earlier," she said quietly, "Rhea said something."
Arav stiffened—not outwardly, but enough that Ira noticed.
"She said people think restraint is kindness," Ira continued. "Until they realize it's convenience."
The words lingered between them.
"You agree with her," Ira said.
It wasn't an accusation.
It was an observation.
Arav watched a student toss a crumpled wrapper into a bin below.
"I don't know if I agree," he said. "But I understand why she said it."
Tiku shifted uncomfortably. "I don't like that we're talking about her like she's not… nearby."
As if summoned by the thought, the air changed.
Not sharply.
Not violently.
Just enough to be noticed.
Ira felt it first—a faint pressure behind her eyes, like a thought that didn't belong to her brushing past.
Arav felt it a second later.
Colder than before.
Sharper.
But distant.
He didn't turn.
He didn't reach out.
He didn't react.
The pressure lingered.
Then faded.
Tiku swallowed. "She was here."
"Yes," Arav said.
"And?" Ira asked.
"She wanted to see if I'd respond."
Ira's voice was quiet. "You didn't."
"That was the point."
For the first time since they met Devavrata, Arav felt something settle—not comfort, not certainty.
Alignment.
He didn't know who he was siding with.
But he knew what he wasn't going to do.
Outside, the campus bell rang, sharp and ordinary.
Students began moving again, flowing toward their next classes.
Life resumed its patterns.
Ira slung her camera over her shoulder. "So what now?"
Arav looked at her.
At Tiku.
At the world continuing like it always had.
"Now," he said, "we keep living."
Tiku blinked. "That's it?"
"No," Arav corrected. "That's the test."
As they left the room together, something unseen adjusted—just slightly.
Not an alarm.
Not a warning.
A note.
Somewhere far beyond the campus, an observation was updated.
And somewhere closer than anyone realized, a decision was quietly acknowledged.
Not approved.
Not denied.
Just… recorded.