The meeting location wasn't a secret lab.
That was the first thing Aiden checked.
Brashear sent the address at 7:10 a.m.—a municipal materials testing facility attached to a civil engineering department. Public funding. Public oversight. The kind of place that tested bridge cables and concrete cores, not people.
Aiden liked that.
He arrived forty minutes early and didn't go inside. He walked the perimeter twice, noted entrances, counted cameras, and checked sightlines. Security was minimal. Two guards, both bored. No unmarked vehicles parked too close. No obvious surveillance vans.
He turned his phone on.
One bar. Stable.
No messages.
He powered it off and walked in through a side entrance with a posted "Visitors" sign.
The lobby smelled like cleaning solution and paper.
A receptionist looked up. "Can I help you?"
Aiden gave the name Keller had used for the appointment. She checked a list, nodded, and handed him a visitor badge.
"Conference room C," she said. "Third floor. You can take the stairs or the elevator."
He took the stairs.
Conference room C was plain. Table. Chairs. Whiteboard. Windows looking out over a parking lot and a river beyond it.
Brashear wasn't there in person.
That, too, was deliberate.
Dr. Simmons waited with a small team—three people total. No lab coats. No instruments on the table. A locked case sat against the wall.
Simmons stood when he entered. "Thanks for coming."
Aiden didn't sit. "You said non-invasive."
"Yes," she said. "Environmental only. No contact unless you initiate it."
He looked at the case. "What's in that?"
"Sensors," she replied. "Passive."
"Show me," Aiden said.
She opened the case.
The contents were mundane. Handheld meters. Tripod-mounted scanners. No restraints. No needles. No containment gear.
Aiden nodded once and took a seat where he could see the door.
Brashear joined via video a minute later. No introduction. No small talk.
"Before we start," Aiden said, "I want the sequence."
Brashear didn't hesitate. "We establish baseline ambient readings with you seated and still. Then standing. Then light movement. We stop if you say stop."
"And the data goes where?" Aiden asked.
"Encrypted storage under my oversight," Brashear said. "Shared summaries only. No raw feeds outside the room."
"Who decides what's a summary?" Aiden asked.
"I do," Brashear said. "You get a copy."
Aiden considered that. "Okay. Start."
They began with nothing happening.
That was the point.
Simmons placed two tripods at measured distances. Another technician calibrated a handheld meter and set it on the table. Numbers appeared. Nothing spiked.
Aiden sat still.
"Heart rate?" Simmons asked.
"Normal," Aiden said.
"Any discomfort?"
"No."
They recorded for five minutes.
Then ten.
Still nothing.
"Stand," Simmons said.
Aiden stood slowly. No rush. No tension.
The meters twitched slightly. Not alarms. Just movement.
Simmons noted it. "There's a localized field variance when you change posture."
"How much?" Aiden asked.
"Low," she said. "Comparable to heavy machinery starting up."
"Okay," he said. "Next."
They asked him to walk the length of the room. He did. Normal pace.
The variance increased, then stabilized.
"That's interesting," Simmons said.
Aiden looked at her. "Say it plainly."
"It doesn't keep increasing," she said. "It plateaus."
Brashear nodded on the screen. "That suggests active regulation."
"Or adaptation," Aiden said.
"Or both," Brashear replied.
They ran another set. Faster walking. Turning. Sitting again.
The readings rose, then settled.
No spikes.
No alarms.
No one reached for anything.
That mattered.
"Now," Simmons said carefully, "we'd like to introduce mild stress."
Aiden raised an eyebrow. "Define mild."
"Cognitive," she said. "Math. Timed."
"Fine," he said.
They gave him a tablet with basic problem sets. Not difficult, just fast. He worked through them without comment.
The readings changed again.
Not dramatically.
But noticeably.
Brashear leaned closer to the camera. "There it is."
Aiden finished the set and handed the tablet back. "What?"
"Your field responds to cognitive load," Brashear said. "Not emotion. Processing."
"That doesn't make sense," Aiden said.
"It does if the containment mechanism is tied to neural activity," Brashear replied. "Focus distributes the load."
Aiden considered that. "So thinking harder spreads it out."
"Yes," Brashear said. "Panic concentrates it."
That lined up with his experience.
He didn't comment.
They took a break.
No one tried to chat him up. No casual questions about his life. No probing.
Professional.
After ten minutes, Simmons asked, "One more test?"
Aiden nodded.
"This time," she said, "we want to see threshold behavior. Still non-invasive."
"How?" he asked.
"We change the environment," she said.
They brought in a reinforced concrete slab on a cart and set it on the floor. Standard test material.
"No touching unless you choose to," Simmons said.
Aiden approached the slab and stopped a step away.
"Lean," Brashear said. "Not push."
Aiden leaned his weight forward slightly.
The slab didn't move.
The meter climbed, then stopped.
"More," Simmons said.
Aiden leaned a bit more.
The slab cracked.
Not shattered. A single fracture line.
Aiden stepped back immediately.
The readings dropped.
Brashear didn't look surprised. "You're coupling force through a stabilizing field. The material fails before the field destabilizes."
Aiden frowned. "Say that again."
"You're not breaking things," Brashear said. "You're changing how force is applied."
Aiden looked at the crack. "That's worse."
"It's different," Brashear said. "Which means it can be controlled."
Aiden didn't respond.
They ended the session on his terms.
No escalation. No surprises.
Simmons packed the equipment. Brashear stayed on the call.
"Preliminary conclusion," Brashear said. "You're not a gamma outlier. You're a hybrid interaction. Gamma with an internal stabilizer."
"And that stabilizer is what?" Aiden asked.
Brashear paused. "That's the part I don't have data for yet."
"Then don't name it," Aiden said.
Brashear nodded. "Agreed."
Aiden stood. "You got what you wanted."
"I got a baseline," Brashear said. "That's better."
Aiden headed for the door, then stopped. "One more thing."
"Yes?" Brashear said.
"You said consent," Aiden said. "That goes both ways. If this turns into pressure, I leave."
"I expect you to," Brashear said. "And I'll say this plainly: I don't want you contained. I want you predictable."
Aiden looked back. "For who?"
"For everyone," Brashear replied.
Aiden considered that, then left.
Outside, the day felt normal.
Traffic. Wind. People arguing about parking.
No escorts followed him. No cars peeled out. No sudden interest.
He walked three blocks before turning his phone on.
One message.
Session complete. Data consistent.
No sender listed.
He turned the phone off again.
That evening, he rented a room near the river and ate alone. He reviewed the session in order.
They hadn't lied.
They hadn't rushed.
They hadn't tried to own him.
That didn't mean they wouldn't later.
But it meant the next move was still his.
He checked the news once.
No updates.
Good.
He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
For the first time since the construction site, he had something concrete: limits, patterns, behavior that could be managed.
Not solved.
Managed.
That was enough for now.
Tomorrow, he'd decide whether to give Brashear a second session—or disappear again before the data finished settling.
Either way, the baseline was set.
And that meant the game had changed.