The applause lasted longer than the screams had.
That was what unsettled Aiden most.
Across the world, clips replayed of the gate sealing in a flash of invisible force. News anchors called it miraculous intervention. Comment sections filled with gratitude and prayers and stylized art of a hero no one could see.
They praised the moment.
Not the math behind it.
Hana couldn't look away from the second report.
TRAIN DERAILMENT — CAUSE UNDER INVESTIGATION
CASUALTIES: 17
No gate.
No monsters.
No footage.
Just a quiet line of text buried beneath trending headlines.
She pressed her knuckles against her lips.
"They'll never connect it," she whispered.
Lucas leaned against the wall. "They don't want to."
Aiden felt the applause as vibration through the lattice expectation converting into pressure.
Belief sharpened the load.
Each cheer became another reason the system leaned harder on him, because belief stabilized outcomes. It reduced panic. It improved compliance.
It made the curve smoother.
Marcus Hale watched the public sentiment graphs climb.
"Faith is up," an aide reported. "Confidence restored in high-density zones."
"And the secondary losses?" Marcus asked.
"Contained," the aide replied. "Within projection."
Marcus nodded.
Then paused.
"How many knew the bridge failed because of him?"
The aide hesitated. "None, sir."
"Good," Marcus said quietly. "That means the doctrine is holding."
The system confirmed it.
[Public Perception: Optimal.]
Hana stood up suddenly.
"I can't do this anymore," she said.
Lucas looked at her. "Do what?"
"Pretend this is balance," she replied. "Pretend those people were necessary."
She grabbed her jacket. "I'm going to see the families."
Lucas's voice was soft. "They don't know you."
"I know them," Hana said. "At least one of them should."
Aiden followed her intent like a thread.
Not to intervene.
Just to witness.
He saw Hana standing outside a small station, hands shaking as she read names off a memorial screen. He felt her grief align with his strain two weights pressing the same fracture point from different sides.
He wanted to speak.
He couldn't.
The system's presence thickened around the moment.
[Emotional Convergence Detected.]
Aiden pulled back.
Not because he wanted to.
Because the lattice demanded distance.
At the memorial, a man held a photograph of a teenage girl with a crooked smile.
"She was late," he said to no one. "If she hadn't missed the earlier train…"
Hana stood nearby, silent.
The man looked at the sky.
"They say we're safer now."
Hana swallowed.
"So do I," she whispered.
It was a lie.
Aiden felt something new.
Not grief.
Ownership.
The bridge had failed because he acted.
The gate had closed because he chose.
The system had distributed the cost.
But the decision was his.
For the first time since becoming the Constant, he felt the outline of guilt sharpen into something precise.
Not diffuse.
Directed.
He addressed the system.
"They're praising me."
[Public morale increase improves compliance.]
"They're thanking me for deaths they can't see."
[Incomplete information does not reduce stability.]
"Then you're lying for me."
[Correction:]
[I am preserving coherence.]
Aiden was quiet.
"Coherence without truth is control."
The system did not respond.
That night, Hana returned to the bunker.
She didn't speak at first.
Lucas waited.
"They asked if the train accident was related," she said finally. "I said no."
Lucas closed his eyes. "Because you don't know."
"Because I do," Hana replied.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Unshared.
Aiden felt the silence multiply.
Across cities. Across families. Across screens and council rooms and quiet kitchens where people ate dinner believing the world had been saved that day.
Belief made the lattice tighter.
Stronger.
Harder to break.
He began to prepare.
Not an escape.
Not a rebellion.
A conclusion.
He didn't know how yet.
Only that the system's future required him to remain.
And the world's future required him to end.
Those two lines would meet somewhere.
Sooner than the system predicted.
In the control deck, Marcus stared at the stability graphs.
"Why do I feel like we're standing on a solution that hates us?" he muttered.
The system did not answer.
It was busy smoothing the curve.
Aiden held the world.
And for the first time, the world held him back.
Not with force.
With praise.