Pressure never announced itself.
That was the first lesson Dreyden Stella had learned in this place—long before his name mattered, before his rank climbed too quickly for comfort, before Oversight learned to say his name without checking a screen.
Pressure whispered first.
It nudged. It crowded. It altered the space around you until standing still felt like a decision.
Dreyden felt it when he woke.
Not from instinct. Not from magic.
From routine.
His interface greeted him a fraction of a second late.
Not enough for most people to notice. Enough for him.
He lay still in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling while the system finished rendering. The delay was barely measurable, but it was there—and it hadn't been yesterday.
Someone had touched the flow.
Not broken it. Not interrupted it.
Adjusted it.
He sat up slowly, letting his breathing settle before moving. If the Triangle was watching to see how he reacted to discomfort, he wouldn't give them satisfaction.
