The system didn't rush the first case.
That, in itself, was unsettling.
After the proposal—after the fragile agreement—it withdrew just enough to make space feel unfamiliar. Not empty. Watched, but no longer guided.
We took shelter in a place that barely existed on any map: a disused maintenance building near the edge of the river, half-swallowed by vines and rust. The kind of place people passed without seeing.
The kind of place the system would once have ignored.
Now, it couldn't afford to.
He checked the perimeter while I sat on the concrete steps outside, the river flowing slow and dark a few meters away. Dawn had fully broken, washing the sky in muted gray-blue.
Normal.
I almost laughed at the thought.
"You're quiet again," he said, returning to stand beside me.
"I'm listening," I replied.
"To it?"
"No," I said. "To myself."
That earned a faint smile—quick, tired, real.
The system re-entered my awareness like a held breath finally released.
[Trial cooperation initiated.]
Case selection required.]
My shoulders tensed.
"Here it is," I murmured.
He didn't sit, but he stayed close. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of him through the thin morning air.
"What kind of case?" he asked.
The system answered both of us—deliberately.
[Anchor-adjacent anomaly detected.]
Subject exhibits early-stage divergence.]
"Another anchor," I said quietly.
[Negative.]
Classification pending.]
"Meaning," he said, "someone who might become a problem."
[Affirmative.]
The river rippled as a breeze passed over it.
"Show me," I said.
For the first time, the system hesitated not out of resistance—but uncertainty.
[Disclosure limited.]
"I'm not agreeing blind," I replied. "That wasn't the deal."
The pause that followed felt heavier than any threat.
Then—
Images surfaced.
A woman in her late twenties.
Hospital lighting.
Monitors beeping in uneven rhythm.
She was sitting upright in a bed she wasn't supposed to have left. Her eyes were sharp, too alert for someone who'd been declared clinically stable.
A nurse entered the room.
The woman looked up and said, very calmly, "If you adjust that dosage again, he won't make it through the night."
The nurse froze.
"What?" she asked.
"I'm not guessing," the woman continued. "I'm remembering."
The image cut out.
I sucked in a breath.
"She's seeing outcomes," I said. "Before they happen."
[Probability sensitivity detected.]
He frowned. "Like you?"
"Not exactly," I said. "Earlier. Rawer."
The system chimed again.
[Projected outcome:]
Subject intervention increases mortality variance by 14%.]
"You want her neutralized," I said flatly.
[Correction:]
Stabilized.]
"By erasing what she sees," he said.
[Possible.]
I closed my eyes.
This was the cost.
Not abstract futures.
Not theoretical balances.
A person.
Aware.
Trying to help.
"If we say no?" he asked.
The system didn't soften it.
[Correction deferred. Divergence risk increases.]
I stood.
The river kept flowing.
People somewhere were waking up, checking phones, making coffee, living lives that hadn't been optimized yet.
"You said we choose," I said.
[Affirmative.]
"Then here's the choice," I replied. "We don't silence her. We talk to her."
The system flickered.
[Direct contact increases unpredictability.]
"Good," he said.
I glanced at him.
"You're sure?"
He nodded once. "If this is cooperation, it starts with treating people like people."
The system processed.
Longer than I liked.
[Condition accepted.]
Constraint: identity confirmation required.]
My stomach dropped.
"What kind of identity?" I asked.
The system answered without ambiguity.
[Personal identifiers.]
Names.]
The word landed like a weight.
I felt it immediately—the pressure, subtle but insistent.
Names were anchors.
Names meant specificity.
Tracking.
Commitment.
He looked at me, understanding settling into his expression.
"You don't have to," he said quietly.
I exhaled slowly.
"Yes," I said. "I do."
I turned inward, past the system's presence, past the calculations and probabilities, to the thing it couldn't quantify.
Self.
"My name," I said clearly, "is Elena."
The air tightened.
[Name registered.]
Identity lock increased.]
Pain flickered briefly behind my eyes—but didn't escalate.
I held my ground.
"I choose what that name means," I added. "Not you."
The system stuttered—just slightly.
I turned to him.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Then—
"My name is Marcus," he said.
The effect was immediate.
Not pain.
Not resistance.
Recalculation.
[Variable identity confirmed.]
Forecast confidence reduced.]
Marcus let out a breath he'd clearly been holding.
"Well," he said dryly. "That felt invasive."
I almost smiled.
Almost.
"Now," I said to the system, "you know who's choosing."
The presence around us shifted—not hostile, not compliant.
Aware.
[Names acknowledged.]
"And remember this," I continued. "Every decision you make now affects Elena and Marcus. Not subjects. Not variables."
The system was quiet for a long moment.
Then—
[Learning state updated.]
I felt it then—a faint, unfamiliar sensation.
Respect.
Not earned.
But forced.
I looked back at the river, at the slow, stubborn movement of water over stone.
"Show us where she is," I said.
The system complied.
Coordinates appeared in my mind.
A hospital three districts away.
"She's not broken," Marcus said softly. "She's just early."
I nodded.
"And scared," I added. "Which means she'll listen."
The system chimed once more—low, restrained.
[Trial phase continues.]
I met Marcus's gaze.
"This is what cooperation looks like," I said.
He nodded.
"Let's go introduce ourselves."
The city waited.
And for the first time, the future had names attached to it.