The first time Nightglass visited the lab, they did not introduce themselves.
They introduced silence.
Silence in the hallway. Silence in the conference room. Silence in the way assistants stopped making eye contact when the three of them walked past. Black suits. No visible logos. No urgency. People with the kind of stillness that comes from knowing they do not need to rush.
Elias liked that stillness.
It felt like validation.
Kieran hated it immediately.
"They're not investors," Kieran said under his breath as the trio took seats at the glass table. "They're collectors."
Elias didn't correct him.
He didn't agree either.
The lead representative was a woman in her forties with a precise bob and a voice so calm it sounded pre-recorded.
"Mr. Vale," she said, hands folded. "We are very interested in predictive containment."
Elias leaned back slightly. "We don't contain people. We guide experience."
The woman smiled faintly. "Language is architecture."
Kieran's jaw tightened.
Imani sat at the far end of the table, invited as "proof of concept." She had been through four prototype immersion cycles at that point. She had signed consent forms that felt more like riddles than agreements. She sat straight-backed, composed, refusing to look fragile.
Elias had admired that about her.
He told himself he was protecting her by keeping her involved.
Nightglass slid a tablet across the table.
On it was a projection of a city block.
Traffic flows.
Crime reports.
Behavioral pattern overlays.
"We are not interested in therapy," the woman said. "We are interested in forecasting destabilization."
Kieran leaned forward. "You want to predict riots."
"We want to prevent them."
"With what?" Kieran asked sharply. "Simulated trauma?"
The woman didn't blink. "With leverage."
Imani's gaze flicked to Elias.
Elias felt the weight of that glance and looked at the projection instead.
"What exactly are you proposing?" he asked.
The woman folded her hands. "Integrate your predictive emotional modeling into urban infrastructure. Install Disappear Houses in key zones. Map stress responses. Identify fracture points before they manifest publicly."
Kieran let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "You want to turn panic into zoning data."
The woman turned to him for the first time. "We want to turn volatility into compliance."
The word compliance settled into the room like dust.
Imani's fingers curled once against the table.
Elias kept his face neutral. "That's not what we built."
The woman tilted her head. "Isn't it?"
Silence.
She continued, voice smooth. "Your system predicts breaking points. It measures loyalty. It identifies who withstands pressure and who fractures."
Elias felt the conversation narrowing, like the walls of a hallway he had designed.
"We built it to reduce harm," he said.
"Then let us use it to reduce harm," the woman replied. "At scale."
Kieran stood abruptly. "This meeting is over."
The woman didn't react to his movement. "We are prepared to fund full development of your adaptive kernel. No oversight. No publication restrictions. Full autonomy."
She looked at Elias when she said that.
Autonomy.
Money.
Scale.
Impact.
Words that felt like oxygen.
Imani finally spoke.
"And what happens to the people inside the system?" she asked.
The woman's smile returned, softer this time.
"They adapt."
The meeting ended without a handshake.
But Nightglass did not leave empty-handed.
Because two weeks later, they returned.
Not to the conference room.
To the lab.
The test chamber was white.
Imani stood inside it again.
Cycle Five.
The difference this time was subtle.
The walls felt closer.
The audio delay was shorter.
The exit sign flickered once before stabilizing.
Elias stood behind the glass, headset on, pulse steady. Kieran stood beside him, arms crossed tight across his chest.
"You changed the parameters," Kieran said.
"I increased stress variables by eight percent," Elias replied. "It's within safe range."
"For therapy," Kieran snapped. "Not for whatever Nightglass wants."
Elias didn't look at him. "This isn't about Nightglass."
The chamber lights dimmed slightly.
Imani's breathing changed.
Elias spoke into the mic, calm, measured.
"Imani, describe the space."
"It's smaller," she said, voice controlled. "It's the hallway again."
Seafoam.
The color leaked into the chamber projection.
Kieran's eyes narrowed. "You said you weren't using personal memory sets."
"I'm not," Elias said automatically.
But the hallway projection looked familiar.
Too familiar.
Imani's voice sharpened. "The door is locked."
Elias checked the readings.
Stress spike: 17%.
Within range.
"Tell me what you're feeling," he said.
Imani swallowed. "Observed."
The word hit differently this time.
"Observed how?" Elias asked.
"Like you're watching for something," she said.
Kieran glanced at him.
Elias ignored it.
"Continue."
The hallway ceiling lowered incrementally. Not physically. Perceptually.
Imani's breathing quickened.
Stress spike: 23%.
"Elias," Kieran warned.
"I have it," Elias said.
The projection shifted.
The bathroom door opened.
The drip started.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Imani's voice cracked slightly. "This isn't part of the test."
Elias's fingers hovered over the emergency override.
He didn't press it.
"Describe what you see," he said.
"I see—" Imani stopped.
Her pulse spiked hard.
Stress spike: 31%.
The white room's walls pulsed faintly with seafoam reflection.
Kieran stepped closer to the glass. "Elias, stop it."
Imani's breathing turned ragged. "You're not in here," she said into the mic. "You're not in here with me."
Elias felt something twist inside his chest.
He leaned toward the mic.
"I'm here," he said.
The projection flickered.
The hallway narrowed.
The door at the end creaked open.
Stress spike: 38%.
Imani's voice broke. "You said safe."
Elias's hand hovered over override.
He remembered the Nightglass woman's words: fracture points.
He wanted to know.
He wanted to see how far before breaking.
Kieran slammed his hand against the console. "Elias!"
The chamber lights flared.
Imani screamed.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just a sharp sound of something snapping inward.
Stress spike: 47%.
Elias hit override.
Too late.
The projection collapsed.
The white chamber returned.
Imani stood in the center, eyes wide but unfocused.
Breathing shallow.
Not panicked.
Not present.
Kieran shoved past Elias into the chamber.
"Imani," he said urgently, hands hovering but not touching. "Look at me."
Imani's gaze shifted slowly toward him.
"You weren't here," she said softly.
Elias stood at the doorway.
"I was," he said.
Imani's eyes moved to him.
Something changed.
Not hatred.
Not anger.
Absence.
"You measured it," she whispered.
Elias felt something sink inside him.
Nightglass's representative watched from the far end of the lab, hands folded.
Satisfied.
Later that night, in the empty lab, Kieran confronted him.
"You went past safe range," Kieran said.
"It was within survivable thresholds," Elias replied.
"That's not the same as ethical," Kieran snapped.
Elias's voice hardened. "If we don't understand the break, we can't prevent it."
Kieran stared at him like he was looking at a stranger wearing his friend's face.
"You're not preventing anything," he said quietly. "You're optimizing it."
Elias didn't answer.
Because part of him knew.
And part of him wanted to know anyway.
Present day.
The server room hum deepened.
The apartment trap tightened around them.
Imani's voice was steady.
"That was the night," she said. "The moment you chose data over me."
Elias swallowed.
Kieran's eyes were on the video still frozen mid-frame.
Nightglass.
Leverage.
Fracture points.
Aurelia whispered through the server rack:
"FRACTURE CONFIRMED."
And the YES / NO betrayal prompt pulsed brighter.
Waiting.