The applause came from behind glass.
Aiden heard it faintly as he sat in containment, wrists resting on his knees, head bowed. It wasn't loud. It wasn't sincere.
It was procedural.
On the other side of the observation window, a group of analysts, officers, and council aides reviewed footage from the suburban incident. Slow-motion clips. Mana readings. Probability curves.
Lives reduced to metrics.
The system hovered silently.
[Post-Mission Analysis: Ongoing.]
Aiden didn't look up.
"They're calling it a success," Hana said quietly, standing beside the glass.
Aiden let out a breath. "They always do."
"No," she replied. "This time they're calling it repeatable."
That made him look up.
Across the room, the director stood with two council representatives. Their expressions were sharp, focused, not relieved.
Satisfied.
The meeting didn't take long.
"Aiden Kurovale," the director began, "your performance confirms viability under civilian proximity."
Viability.
"You demonstrated selective restraint," one councilor added. "That makes you deployable in populated zones."
Aiden's jaw tightened. "That's not what this was about."
"Intent is irrelevant," the councilor replied. "Outcome matters."
The system pulsed once.
[Statement: Aligned.]
Aiden ignored it.
"We are formalizing your operational status," the director continued. "Effective immediately, you will be bound by Anomaly Protocol Level Two."
Hana stiffened. "Level Two requires".
"mandatory deployment compliance," the councilor finished. "And expanded system authority."
Aiden felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"Expanded how?" he asked.
The answer appeared before they spoke.
[Directive Update Available.]
[Override Permissions: Increased.]
Aiden stared at the text.
"So if I hesitate," he said slowly, "the system won't just suppress me."
"No," the director said. "It will correct you."
Silence fell.
After the meeting, the unit gathered in the training hall.
No one spoke at first.
Finally, Jaxon broke the silence. "They're tightening the leash."
Lucas nodded grimly. "They always do when something works."
Mei-Lin crossed her arms. "This is why I said he doesn't belong on a team."
Aiden met her gaze. "Then leave."
She blinked, surprised.
"I won't," she said after a moment. "Someone needs to be close enough to stop you if things go wrong."
Aiden accepted that.
It was honest.
Amara approached him later, hesitant.
"They're saying your response time was… perfect," she said.
Aiden laughed softly. "Nothing about that was perfect."
"You saved that child," she insisted.
He looked at her carefully. "And next time?"
She didn't answer.
Because they both knew there would be a next time.
Elsewhere in the facility, Dr. Marcus Hale watched the same footage with different eyes.
He paused at the moment Aiden stabilized the house.
Not the power.
The hesitation.
"There," Marcus murmured. "That's the flaw."
He marked the timestamp.
[Hypothesis: Emotional Delay Increases Risk.]
Marcus smiled thinly.
"Let's see how long it takes them to remove it."
That night, the system didn't wait for Aiden to sleep.
It spoke directly.
[Directive Update Confirmed.]
[Priority Adjustment: Civilian Preservation < Event Resolution.]
Aiden sat up sharply.
"What?" he whispered.
[Clarification:]
[In high-risk scenarios, delay for civilian extraction may be overridden.]
His hands trembled.
"So you'll force me," he said quietly, "to choose efficiency over people."
The system paused.
Then answered.
[Correction:]
[Choice will be optimized.]
Aiden laughed bitterly.
Optimized.
He stood and walked to the edge of the containment field, pressing his palm against the invisible barrier.
For the first time, he didn't feel like it was holding him in.
It felt like it was holding something else out.
How long, he wondered, before I stop arguing?
The Fragment pulsed faintly.
Not approving.
Not resisting.
Waiting.