The morning began wrong.
Ethan knew it before he opened his eyes.
There was no sound from outside his dorm window—no distant traffic, no wind brushing the trees lining the campus walkways, no early laughter from students dragging themselves to 8 a.m. lectures.
Just silence.
Not absence.
Silence.
He opened his eyes slowly.
The ceiling above his bed looked the same as always—off-white, faint crack near the corner where the plaster had chipped months ago. He'd stared at that crack during countless sleepless nights.
But something about it felt… placed.
Deliberate.
He sat up.
Across the room, Seth was already awake, sitting at his desk, unmoving. His back was straight. His hands rested on the table. He wasn't typing. Wasn't reading.
Just staring at the wall.
"Seth?" Ethan's voice sounded smaller than it should have.
Seth didn't respond immediately.
Then, without turning, he said quietly, "You felt it too."
Ethan swallowed. "Felt what?"
"The reset."
The word settled in the air like dust.
Ethan laughed weakly. "Reset? We're not in a video game."
Seth turned slowly.
His eyes looked darker. Not physically darker—but deeper, like something behind them was pushing forward.
"We had this conversation yesterday," Seth said.
Ethan frowned. "No, we didn't."
"Yes," Seth replied calmly. "You woke up. You said something felt wrong. I said the day reset. You laughed."
Ethan's pulse quickened.
"That didn't happen."
Seth tilted his head slightly. "You said that too."
A cold pressure pressed into Ethan's chest.
"That's not funny."
"I'm not joking."
Silence stretched.
Ethan scanned the room again. Everything seemed normal. His bag lay on the chair. His notebook rested open on his desk. The immunology textbook sat beside it.
He stood abruptly.
"Fine. Let's test it."
He walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside.
Students moved along the pathway below in steady lines.
Too steady.
Their spacing was perfect. Their movements oddly synchronized. A girl adjusted her backpack strap at the exact same moment the boy beside her checked his phone. A group of three laughed in identical rhythm.
Ethan blinked.
"Do you see that?" he whispered.
Seth rose and stood beside him.
"Yes."
One of the students stopped walking.
Just stopped.
Turned.
Looked up at their window.
Ethan's stomach dropped.
The student's face held no expression. No curiosity. No confusion.
Just… observation.
Then the student resumed walking.
As if nothing had happened.
Ethan stepped back from the window.
"That's not normal."
"No," Seth agreed.
There was a knock at the door.
Three sharp taps.
Ethan and Seth froze.
Another three taps.
Ethan forced himself to move. He opened the door slowly.
The hallway looked exactly as it always did.
And standing in front of him was Professor Fargrave.
Immunology.
He wore the same gray suit from yesterday. Same narrow tie. Same polished shoes.
"Good morning," Fargrave said smoothly.
His smile was precise.
Not warm.
Precise.
Ethan swallowed. "Professor? What are you doing here?"
"Checking on my students," Fargrave replied. "You missed breakfast."
Seth stepped closer behind Ethan.
"We didn't go to breakfast yesterday either," Seth said evenly.
Fargrave's eyes flickered just briefly.
"You attended breakfast," he said. "You both did."
"No," Seth said.
Fargrave's smile widened a fraction.
"There seems to be some confusion."
Ethan felt pressure build inside his skull. A faint ringing.
Fargrave's gaze shifted directly to Ethan.
"Tell me," the professor said gently, "what do you remember about yesterday?"
Ethan opened his mouth.
And froze.
Images flickered in his mind.
The lecture hall.
Fargrave discussing immune response cycles.
The word "biological recovery."
Whispers.
Then
Static.
Blankness.
He couldn't remember leaving the lecture.
Couldn't remember dinner.
Couldn't remember going to sleep.
His breathing quickened.
Fargrave stepped closer.
"It's normal," he said softly. "Memory gaps occur under stress."
"That's not stress," Seth snapped. "That's interference."
Fargrave's eyes shifted to Seth again.
"Interference?"
Seth held his gaze without blinking.
"Yes."
The air in the hallway felt heavier.
Students passed behind Fargrave, but none looked at them. None acknowledged the professor standing in a dorm corridor at 8 a.m.
Fargrave exhaled slowly.
"You two are exceptional," he said.
The compliment felt like a diagnosis.
"Exceptional in what way?" Ethan asked, forcing steadiness.
Fargrave studied them.
"In resilience."
A flicker of something irritation? admiration? calculation?—moved behind his eyes.
"The campus is adjusting," he continued. "You should allow yourselves to adjust with it."
"That's not an answer," Seth said.
Fargrave's smile disappeared.
For the first time, his face looked tired.
"You are out of sync," he said quietly. "And being out of sync is… dangerous."
The hallway lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Ethan felt it then.
A low vibration in his chest.
Not sound.
Resonance.
Seth's hand twitched slightly at his side.
"You feel that?" Ethan whispered.
"Yes," Seth replied.
Fargrave straightened.
"You will attend today's lecture," he said firmly. "It is important."
The vibration intensified.
Ethan's vision blurred at the edges.
For a split second
He saw the hallway differently.
The walls weren't painted plaster.
They were panels.
Segmented.
Mechanical.
Thin seams ran along their edges like hidden doors.
Then it was gone.
The hallway returned to normal.
Ethan staggered slightly.
Fargrave's voice cut through.
"Reality requires participation."
Seth's eyes sharpened.
"Or compliance?" he asked.
Fargrave said nothing.
Instead, he stepped backward.
"Lecture begins in thirty minutes," he said. "Do not be late."
He turned and walked down the corridor.
No one moved aside for him.
No one acknowledged him.
Yet somehow, everyone avoided touching him.
Ethan closed the door slowly.
The silence returned.
He leaned against the door, heart pounding.
"That wasn't real," he muttered.
"It was real," Seth said quietly. "Just not complete."
Ethan looked at him.
"What does that mean?"
Seth walked to his desk and picked up his notebook.
He flipped it open.
Pages filled with writing Ethan didn't recognize.
Coordinates.
Symbols.
Repeated phrases.
One line circled over and over:
POINT VEERT IS NOT A PLACE.
Ethan stared.
"When did you write that?"
Seth met his eyes.
"Yesterday."
Ethan's pulse hammered.
"I don't remember that."
"I know."
The vibration returned.
Stronger now.
Like a distant engine warming beneath the campus.
Seth pressed his palm against the desk.
"Whatever this field is," he said slowly, "it's cycling."
"Cycling?"
"Testing."
Ethan felt anger flare through his fear.
"We're not experiments."
Seth's jaw tightened.
"That's exactly what we are."
Outside, a bell rang.
Not the usual campus bell.
Lower.
Longer.
Sustained.
The students below stopped walking.
All at once.
They turned in perfect unison.
Not toward the building.
Not toward the sky.
Toward the center of campus.
Toward the old administrative tower.
The one that had been under "renovation" for months.
Ethan's breathing faltered.
"They're synchronized," he whispered.
"Yes."
The bell stopped.
The students resumed walking.
Normal pace.
As if nothing had happened.
Ethan stepped away from the window.
"We can't just go to class."
Seth closed his notebook slowly.
"We have to."
Ethan stared at him. "Why?"
"Because if this is a loop," Seth said, "we need to find the break point."
The vibration pulsed again.
Ethan pressed his fingers to his temple.
And for a fraction of a second—
He saw himself standing in the lecture hall.
Alone.
Everyone else frozen.
Fargrave at the front of the room.
Watching him.
Smiling without warmth.
Then,The vision snapped away.
Ethan inhaled sharply.
Seth was watching him carefully.
"You saw something."
Ethan nodded slowly.
"The lecture."
Seth didn't look surprised.
"That's where it anchors," he murmured.
"Anchors what?"
"The reset."
The word felt heavier now.
Less absurd.
More possible.
Ethan looked at the notebook again.
POINT VEERT IS NOT A PLACE.
"Then what is it?" he asked.
Seth's eyes drifted toward the administrative tower visible in the distance.
"It's a condition," he said quietly.
The campus bell rang again.
This time, shorter.
Ethan felt the resonance rise like a tide.
They were running out of time.
"Fine," Ethan said, forcing steadiness into his voice. "We go to lecture."
Seth nodded.
They grabbed their bags.
As Ethan stepped into the hallway, he noticed something new.
A faint seam along the ceiling.
A thin line running the entire length of the corridor.
Like a lid.
He looked at Seth.
"You see that?"
"Yes."
Neither of them commented further.
They walked toward the stairs.
The building felt larger than usual.
The distance between floors seemed longer.
The echo of their footsteps slightly delayed.
As they exited into the open air, Ethan felt it again—
That sense of being observed from everywhere at once.
Not by people.
By structure.
By system.
Students flowed around them.
Perfectly spaced.
Perfectly paced.
"Don't react," Seth muttered.
"I'm not."
But Ethan's hands were shaking.
They moved toward the lecture hall.
The administrative tower loomed in the center of campus.
Its windows reflected sunlight at identical angles.
Too identical.
Ethan's chest tightened.
The bell rang a third time.
And for just a heartbeat
The entire campus flickered.
Like a screen buffering.
Ethan stumbled.
Seth grabbed his arm.
In that flicker—
The sky wasn't blue.
It was gridlined.
Segmented.
Structured.
Then reality snapped back into place.
No one else reacted.
No one else noticed.
Ethan looked at Seth.
"We're not out of sync," he whispered.
Seth's voice was steady.
"No."
They reached the doors of the lecture hall.
Inside, rows of students already sat in perfect silence.
Fargrave stood at the podium.
Waiting.
He smiled when he saw them.
Not surprised.
Not pleased.
Expectant.
Ethan stepped inside.
And the vibration peaked.
A hum filled his ears.
The door closed behind them.
The bell rang once more.
And somewhere, deep beneath the campus
Something restarted.