The Triangle did not sleep.
It only dimmed.
Systems entered low-activity cycles, instructors retreated into private quarters, and students returned to dorms with lights lowered and voices hushed—but nothing truly powered down.
Containment never did.
Dreyden felt it as he lay awake, eyes open, breath slow. The academy's background hum—energy circulation through barrier arrays, observation layers recalibrating—was steadier than normal.
Stability mode.
That meant preparation.
They hadn't escalated yet because escalation attracted witnesses.
So the Triangle was doing what it did best.
Reframing.
By morning, the narrative had shifted without a single announcement.
Helin's name was no longer whispered.
Maren's metrics clip vanished from private channels—not deleted, just… buried. Pushed down by a flood of benign updates: training achievements, friendly rivalries, curated highlights of students "thriving" under the system.
Hope as compression.
