The first sign wasn't Maya herself.
It was noise.
Not the loud kind—no alarms, no announcements, no sudden lockdowns. Nothing dramatic enough to trigger panic or draw attention. This was the quiet kind of noise. The kind that slipped past people and settled into systems instead.
Delayed responses.
Minor inconsistencies.
Processes that finished correctly—but not cleanly.
The kind of imperfection that didn't belong.
Dreyden noticed it during morning drills.
His training terminal hesitated before confirming an opponent selection.
Exactly 0.23 seconds.
He registered the number automatically, even as his body continued its warm-up routine. Breath steady. Muscles loose. Heart rate controlled.
The delay meant nothing to anyone else.
To him, it meant everything.
