The crackdown did not come immediately.
That was how Anabeth knew it would be worse.
---
By morning, the campus looked normal.
Too normal.
Clean walkways. Repaired drones. Announcements about "temporary disruptions" and "community reassurance." Classes resumed. Cafés reopened. Security smiled again.
Normal was the mask.
---
"They're waiting," Mara said, pacing the room they'd been moved into—an old administrative wing officially marked under renovation. "If they move too fast, they validate her speech."
Rafael leaned against the window, watching students pass below. "So they starve it instead."
Cassian didn't look up from the data slate in his hands. "No. They redirect it."
---
Anabeth sat on the edge of the desk, hoodie pulled tight around her like armor she hadn't chosen. She hadn't slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the square—faces lifted toward her, trusting her with something she wasn't sure she deserved.
"What does redirecting look like?" she asked quietly.
Cassian hesitated.
"That's not a good sign," Rafael said.
Cassian exhaled. "They're reframing you. Not as a threat. As a fault."
---
Anabeth nodded slowly. "A stress fracture."
"Yes," Cassian said. "A necessary one."
---
By noon, the first narrative dropped.
Not an arrest.
Not an accusation.
A symposium.
Emergency Forum on Leadership Stability and Civil Escalation.
Her name wasn't on the invite.
But her image was.
---
"They're dissecting you," Mara said, scrolling. "Psych profiles. 'Well-meaning but overwhelmed.' 'Symbolic burden.'"
Rafael swore under his breath.
"They're asking the wrong question on purpose," Anabeth said.
"What question?" Mara asked.
"Not 'what did she reveal?'" Anabeth replied. "But 'why couldn't she handle it?'"
---
Cassian looked up sharply.
"They're not removing you," he said. "They're isolating you."
---
That afternoon, the consequences became physical.
A protest formed near the eastern quad—small, loud, unfocused. Supporters at first. Then counter-supporters. Then outsiders.
Security stayed back.
Too far back.
---
"They're letting it burn," Rafael said, watching feeds. "Just enough."
"Just enough blood to justify force," Mara added.
Anabeth stood.
"I'm going."
"No," Rafael said immediately.
"Yes," she replied.
"You showing up escalates everything," Cassian warned.
Anabeth met his eyes. "Me not showing up tells them I was never serious."
---
Rafael stepped in front of her.
"Listen to me," he said, low and urgent. "They're engineering a moment where your presence becomes the excuse."
"I know."
"And you're still going?"
"Yes."
---
For a long second, no one spoke.
Then Rafael nodded once.
"Then we don't let them control the frame."
---
They didn't go together.
That mattered.
Anabeth walked alone, hoodie down, hair loose, face uncovered. No announcement. No camera crew. Just a woman crossing campus like she still belonged to it.
Whispers followed her.
Some reached for phones.
Others stepped back.
---
The protest froze when she appeared.
Not silence—confusion.
She raised her hands slightly. Not surrender. Acknowledgment.
"I'm not here to speak," she said. "I'm here to listen."
Someone laughed bitterly.
Another shouted, "Too late for that!"
She nodded. "That's fair."
---
The honesty disarmed them more than any speech could have.
A student stepped forward. "They say you're the reason funding's frozen."
Anabeth didn't argue.
"They say people are getting hurt because you wouldn't step aside."
"I hear that," she said.
"They say you started a war you can't finish."
That one landed.
---
Anabeth took a breath.
"I didn't start it," she said. "But I did refuse to end it quietly."
The crowd shifted.
---
A bottle shattered near the edge.
Security tensed.
Someone shoved someone else.
Momentum tipped.
---
That was when the first shot rang out.
Not a gun.
A sound cannon.
---
The protest collapsed into panic.
Students ran.
Security surged.
Orders finally came through.
Too late.
---
Rafael saw it from the command feed.
"They're moving now," he said. "Hard."
Cassian's face drained of color. "They authorized dispersal."
"With Anabeth in the middle?" Mara snapped.
"Yes."
---
On the ground, Anabeth felt the force hit her chest like a wall.
She staggered.
Hands grabbed her—someone pulling her back, someone else pushing forward.
She fell.
The world became noise and boots and screaming.
---
Rafael didn't wait.
He broke protocol.
The first barrier went down.
Then the second.
---
"Rafael, stop!" Cassian shouted through comms.
But Rafael was already there—already lifting Anabeth, already shielding her with his body as another wave slammed through.
"Can you stand?" he asked urgently.
She nodded, coughing. "Yes."
"Then move."
---
They didn't run far.
They didn't need to.
The damage was already done.
---
By evening, the footage was everywhere.
Not her speech.
Not the forum.
Her on the ground.
Security advancing.
Students screaming.
---
The system reacted exactly as she'd feared.
Emergency powers invoked.
Assemblies banned.
Leadership authority centralized.
The word stability repeated like a prayer.
---
Back in the safe room, Anabeth sat with ice pressed to her ribs.
"I made it worse," she said quietly.
Rafael crouched in front of her. "You made it undeniable."
Cassian looked hollow. "They're consolidating. This is overcorrection."
Mara swallowed. "External forces are lining up. They want to 'restore order.' Replace the system if they have to."
---
Anabeth closed her eyes.
"So this is the cost of staying visible."
"Yes," Cassian said. "And it's not done."
She opened her eyes again.
Clear.
Resolved.
"Then we stop pretending visibility is protection," she said. "And start treating it like leverage."
---
Rafael studied her face.
"You're thinking something dangerous."
She nodded.
"They've built this escalation around me," she said. "So we force them to choose."
"Choose what?" Mara asked.
Anabeth's voice barely carried.
"Whether stopping this requires my silence."
---
No one spoke.
Because they all understood what that meant.
---
Outside, the campus locked itself down.
Above it, drones hovered.
Beyond it, powers calculated.
And somewhere deep in the system, a contingency began to surface—one Hale had set in motion long before his fall.
Something designed for moments exactly like this.
---
Hope still existed.
But now it hurt to hold.
And that was how Anabeth knew they were nearing the end.