Attrition didn't look like defeat.
It looked like endurance misplaced.
The system didn't fracture overnight.
It thinned.
Strength remained, but margins narrowed. Tolerance shrank. The distance between effort and exhaustion shortened just enough to matter.
"They're not trying to break us," Adrian said, scanning the longitudinal metrics.
"No," I replied. "They're trying to make us tired of holding."
"And tired systems make mistakes."
"Eventually," I said. "That's the bet."
Attrition began in rhythm.
Days stretched without slowing. Tasks completed without pause. Small wins accumulated without relief. The pace never spiked never invited adrenaline.
It just stayed.
Relentless.
"They're keeping us moving," Adrian said.
"Yes," I replied. "Movement without release drains faster than pressure."
I felt it in decisions.
Not doubt fatigue.
Choosing between two correct options became harder. Minor tradeoffs demanded disproportionate attention. The cost of being precise increased.
