The order arrived without ceremony.
No announcement.
No urgency.
Just a quiet update that moved through the system and rearranged several lives.
Tae-Hyun saw it first on a peripheral display while recalibrating an environment panel. A new schedule block appeared across the inner wing's operational grid.
INTERFACE PROCEDURE – PHASE ONE
Primary Candidate: E-17
The time stamp was three days away.
He stared at the line longer than necessary before closing the panel.
Above him, two analysts were already discussing it.
"Director wants her prepped early," one said. "They're bringing in external oversight."
"From Helix?" the other asked.
"From above Helix," the first replied.
The words settled.
Above Helix meant the private structure Dr. Seo had traced. The one that didn't sit on organizational charts.
The one that answered directly to Yoon.
He reached Eun-chae's chamber later that evening.
She was standing near the platform, a thin diagnostic mesh draped over her shoulders while a medical aide adjusted its parameters. Her posture remained steady, but her focus was sharper than before.
She saw him.
And this time, she didn't wait.
"They scheduled it," she said quietly.
"Yes."
"Phase one," she added. "They didn't tell me what phase two is."
He moved closer to the glass.
"What did they tell you?"
"That I'll be working directly with the central architecture," she replied. "That the array won't only align anymore. It will… interface."
The word hung between them.
"And that they need me conscious," she added.
His jaw tightened.
"They're afraid of what happens when you're not," he said.
She studied his face.
"They're afraid of what happens when I am," she corrected.
Silence moved through the space.
"They also made a request," she said.
"For what?"
Her gaze flicked briefly toward the observation deck.
"For proximity."
The hum inside him responded before he spoke.
"Explain."
"They want to introduce a variable," she said. "Something that triggered reflective stabilization during the last activation."
He held her eyes.
"They want you."
He didn't deny it.
"They don't know what I am," he said. "They only know the field changed."
"That's enough for them," she replied. "They've built everything here on partial truths."
He considered.
"They'll formalize it," he said. "Observation. Monitoring. Controlled exposure."
"Yes."
"And they'll try to map me through you."
Her fingers curled lightly at her sides.
"They already are."
A quiet tension settled between them.
"This could give us access," he said. "Closer than anything we've had."
"And it could place you inside their core process," she replied.
"Yes."
She searched his face.
"You don't sound unsure."
"I am," he said. "But uncertainty isn't a reason to stop."
Her lips curved faintly.
"That sounds like something they'd say."
"I learned from them," he replied. "Before I learned against them."
Footsteps sounded above them.
A new figure had joined the observation deck. Taller. Still. Watching the chamber rather than the screens.
Eun-chae's gaze followed his.
"That's him," she said.
"Who?"
"Director Han," she replied. "He doesn't come down unless something is about to change."
The man leaned forward slightly, hands resting on the glass railing.
Even from below, Tae-Hyun could feel the directed attention.
Not curiosity.
Assessment.
A few minutes later, his terminal chimed softly.
A direct task update.
Logistics support – interface preparation team. Report to central coordination.
They were moving faster than he'd expected.
He looked back at Eun-chae.
"They're pulling me in," he said.
Her eyes didn't leave his.
"Then stay where I can feel you," she said.
He inclined his head.
"I will."
He turned toward the coordination corridor.
As he walked, the hum inside him gathered again, aligning into a familiar internal lattice.
Because this time, he wasn't moving closer by accident.
This time, the system had asked.