Mara released her statement at 07:43 a.m.
Not during prime time.
Not attached to any movement or organization.
Early enough that it would be read slowly—by people who woke up already uneasy.
It was short.
That, too, was deliberate.
Marcus read it once, then again, jaw tightening.
"She doesn't hedge," he said.
"No," I replied. "She's not asking for consensus."
The advisory presence hovered faintly, almost respectful in its silence.
[Public declaration detected.]
The statement spread faster than mine ever had.
Because it wasn't abstract.
Because it named things.
I supported the end of hidden control because I believed responsibility should be shared.
What I did not agree to was replacing one silent authority with another that restricts people before harm occurs.
We are not safer when fear is administered in advance.
Marcus exhaled slowly. "She's calling out the committee."
"Yes," I said. "And by extension—me."
The next paragraph cut deeper.
Elena argues that responsibility must be visible. I agree.
Which is why I cannot accept decisions that limit public presence without public consent.
If this framework continues on this path, it will become the very thing it claimed to replace.
No insults.
No accusations of intent.
Just implication.
Mara didn't say I was wrong.
She said I was becoming dangerous.
The advisory presence updated.
[Public response variance exceeding prior thresholds.]
"That's polite language for 'this is going to explode,'" Marcus muttered.
I felt the pressure return behind my eyes—stronger this time, sharper. My vision blurred at the edges, not darkening, but doubling.
"Elena?" Marcus said sharply.
"I'm here," I replied, though my voice sounded distant to my own ears.
The room tilted—not physically, but perceptually. For a split second, I felt too many people at once.
Not thoughts.
Not futures.
Reactions.
Fear.
Relief.
Anger.
Recognition.
It crashed through me like static.
I grabbed the back of a chair, steadying myself.
"Okay," I said. "That's not supposed to happen."
Marcus was at my side instantly. "Sit. Now."
I did.
The advisory presence chimed, too late to be helpful.
[Alert:]
[Anchor cognitive saturation increasing.]
"Define increasing," I snapped.
No response.
Mara's statement was already being dissected on every channel.
Supporters framed her as principled.
Opponents framed her as destabilizing.
The committee framed her as misinformed but well-intentioned.
That one hurt more than criticism.
"They're using her," Marcus said. "To draw a line you wouldn't."
"Yes," I replied. "And she knows it."
My hands were trembling now—not fear, not adrenaline.
Overload.
"I think," I said slowly, "my capacity assumed bounded systems."
Marcus frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning I was never meant to hold this many unfiltered reactions," I said. "Not without a buffer."
The advisory presence offered a rare admission.
[System note:]
[Previous correction layers absorbed excess variance.]
"So now," Marcus said quietly, "you absorb it."
"Yes."
Outside, the city responded immediately.
Unauthorized gatherings increased—not violent, but defiant. Small clusters standing deliberately inside restricted zones.
Not riots.
Challenges.
The committee reacted within hours.
Revised guidance.
Clarifications.
Assurances that temporary measures remain necessary.
Mara went live again—this time unscripted.
"I'm not calling for disorder," she said calmly. "I'm calling for restraint from those who now claim the authority to prevent it."
Her gaze was steady.
"If we accept preemptive restriction today," she continued, "we normalize it for tomorrow."
The feed cut abruptly.
Technical issue.
Marcus laughed once, humorless. "That'll help."
I closed my eyes.
The pressure didn't fade.
It layered.
"Elena," Marcus said gently, "this isn't sustainable."
"I know," I replied.
"Then step back," he urged. "Let others carry it."
I shook my head slowly.
"I can't," I said. "Not yet."
Because stepping back didn't make the weight disappear.
It just moved it somewhere less visible.
The advisory presence chimed again.
[Committee request:]
[Anchor Elena: public clarification distancing from dissenting statements.]
I laughed quietly.
"They want me to disavow her."
"Yes," Marcus said. "That would stabilize things."
"It would consolidate power," I replied.
"And isolate her," he added.
I felt the pressure spike sharply—enough that spots flared in my vision.
"Okay," I said through clenched teeth. "That's new."
Marcus grabbed my shoulders. "Elena."
"I'm fine," I said automatically.
I wasn't.
I could feel something fraying—not mentally, not emotionally.
Structurally.
The ability wasn't failing.
It was burning.
I thought of the old system—of how much it had absorbed without complaint, without cost.
"This is the price," I said softly. "Of not hiding it anymore."
Marcus didn't argue.
Outside, the city split further—not into chaos, but into positions that hardened by the hour.
Mara stood in one place.
I stood in another.
Not enemies.
Not allies.
Two answers to the same impossible question.
The advisory presence remained silent.
It had no model for this.
And for the first time, neither did I.
As night fell, I sat alone, lights dimmed, head in my hands.
The pressure eased slightly—but something else remained.
A residue.
A certainty I hadn't had before.
This wouldn't end with reconciliation.
Or victory.
Or a return to anything simpler.
From here on out, every step forward would cost someone something.
And the more honestly that cost was carried—
The heavier it would become