Systems don't fail under pressure.
They reveal their tolerances.
By morning, the message discipline shifted again—shorter emails, fewer recipients, decisions made verbally and confirmed "later."
Later never comes by accident.
It's a shelter.
The Interim Lead requested a one-on-one.
Not urgent.
Not optional.
"Calibration," the invite said.
I accepted.
Refusal would have been interpreted as flight.
The room was smaller than before.
Intentional.
People choose intimacy when they want confession—or leverage.
"Your documentation is creating hesitation," the Lead began, tone measured. "People are afraid to move."
"Good," I replied. "Movement without clarity is how damage spreads."
A beat.
"You're stress-testing the system."
"Yes."
"Without authorization."
I met their eyes. "Authorization is how stress tests get compromised."
They leaned back.
"You realize this can't continue indefinitely."
"I know," I said. "That's why it's happening now."
They tried a different angle.
"You're attracting alignment from people who don't fully understand the consequences."
I didn't disagree.
"That's why I keep telling them to document," I said. "Understanding follows records."
Silence.
They were calculating—not how to stop me, but how to absorb me.
That's the pivot point.
At noon, the first leak appeared.
Not a scandal.
A discrepancy.
A side-by-side comparison posted anonymously to an internal forum—raw logs versus the synthesis.
No commentary.
Just timestamps.
That kind of leak doesn't scream.
It invites verification.
Legal went into containment mode.
Threads locked.
Access restricted.
A reminder about "responsible discourse."
Too late.
Once people see a seam, they pull.
Han Zhe sent an update:
External observers are asking questions. Quietly.
External meant funding partners.
Regulators.
Stakeholders who didn't like surprises.
Surprises cost money.
Gu Chengyi called for the first time in weeks.
"You've moved this out of their control," he said.
"I moved it into daylight."
"They'll push back harder."
"Yes," I agreed. "Because now it matters."
A pause.
"Be careful," he added. Not as advice—as acknowledgment.
By evening, the Interim Lead issued a directive.
A temporary freeze on procedural changes.
Framed as prudence.
It was a brake check.
They wanted to see who flinched.
I didn't respond publicly.
I forwarded the directive to Legal with a simple note:
Please confirm scope and legal basis.
No one likes answering that question twice.
The junior analyst sent another message.
They reassigned my manager.
Upward or sideways.
That's how systems pretend nothing happened.
I replied:
Keep copies. Off-network.
A pause.
Understood.
That night, I updated the notebook again.
• When control slows movement, measure who keeps momentum.
I closed it and turned off the light.
Somewhere, pressure gauges were blinking amber.
Not red.
Not yet.
But amber means the system is no longer pretending it's fine.
It means the test is working.