The day Lena Brooks left him, Evan Cross did not chase her.
They were behind Whitman's Market, where a single flickering light buzzed over milk crates stacked like gravestones. Rain had soaked the concrete earlier, leaving the air sour and heavy.
"I cannot keep building a future on apologies," Lena said.
Her voice was steady. That hurt more than anger would have.
Evan stood there with his hands in his jacket pockets, fingers brushing the loose change he had counted too many times already. Eleven dollars and sixty two cents. He had rehearsed explanations. None of them were worth saying.
"I need more," she added. "More life. More stability."
She did not say money.
She did not have to.
"I know," Evan said.
That was all he gave her.
Lena searched his face like she expected something else. A promise. A miracle. When it did not come, she nodded once and walked away, heels clicking until the sound disappeared under the hum of traffic.
Evan stayed where he was for a long time.
The apartment was darker than he remembered when he got home. The refrigerator was silent. The air felt wrong, as if the place had already decided he no longer belonged there.
He sat on the floor, back against the wall, knees pulled in.
That was when the words appeared.
Not projected. Not glowing.
Simply there.
Judgment Protocol Initialized
Evan's breath caught. He blinked. The text did not move.
"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered.
His hand passed through it. His heartbeat did not slow.
User Verification Complete
Visibility Restriction Active
Survival Clause Engaged
Cold crept into his chest.
"What survival clause," Evan whispered.
The System did not answer.
Instead, another line formed.
You are currently unworthy
His jaw tightened.
That word again. Worth. As if his life could be weighed on something that file and detached.
Initial Trial Will Commence in 24 Hours
The air felt heavier.
Core Directives
Reject Easy Gain
Choose Discipline Under Pressure
Act Without Recognition
Then the final sentence appeared, calm and absolute.
Failure Results in Termination
Evan laughed once. It came out wrong.
The screen disappeared.
No sound. No flash. Just gone.
The apartment remained dark. Quiet. Empty.
Evan pressed his hands against his face and dragged them down slowly.
If this was a test, it would not reward fear.
If this was death, then running had already stopped working.
He stood up.
Tomorrow would decide if his life was worth anything at all.