The notification came at three in the morning.
I wasn't asleep. Hadn't been for hours. I was sitting at my desk, staring at nothing in particular, when the system chimed.
SYSTEM NOTICE
Permanent state registered.
Entity status: Professor Helena Arnett.
Classification: Trust revoked.
Restoration probability: 0%.
I read it twice.
Then I set my phone down and stared at the wall.
Professor Arnett had been the first person I'd told about the system. Not everything—I wasn't that stupid—but enough. Enough that she understood something was happening to me. Enough that she'd offered to help.
That was six weeks ago.
This morning, she'd sent me an email.
Mr. Cross,
After reviewing recent events and their impact on the academic environment, I've decided it's best if we discontinue our mentorship arrangement. I've referred your case to Student Services. They'll be in touch.
I hope you understand.
— H. Arnett
Professional. Distant. Final.
I'd read it three times before I realized what it meant.
She thought I was dangerous.
Maybe she was right.
I showed up to her office anyway.
The door was closed. A handwritten note was taped to it: Office hours canceled. Email for appointments.
I knocked.
No answer.
I knocked again.
The door opened. Not Professor Arnett—her TA, Marcus. He looked uncomfortable the moment he saw me.
"Ethan," he said. "She's not here."
"I can wait."
"She's not coming back today."
I didn't move.
Marcus shifted his weight, glancing down the hallway. "Look, man. I don't know what happened between you two, but she was pretty clear. She doesn't want to meet with you."
"Did she say why?"
"No."
He was lying. Badly.
"Marcus—"
"I'm sorry," he said, and he actually sounded like he meant it. "But I can't help you."
He closed the door.
I stood there for a moment, alone in the hallway, listening to the sound of my own breathing.
Then I left.
Claire found me in the library that afternoon.
I didn't see her approach. One moment I was staring at a textbook I wasn't reading, and the next she was sitting across from me, hands folded on the table.
"You look worse than usual," she said.
"Thanks."
"What happened?"
I considered not telling her. But what was the point? She'd find out eventually. Everyone would.
"Professor Arnett cut ties," I said.
Claire's expression didn't change. "When?"
"This morning."
"Why?"
"Because I'm a liability."
"Are you?"
I looked at her. "You tell me."
She was quiet for a moment, studying my face. Then: "What did you lose?"
"Her trust. Her mentorship. Any chance I had of finishing my thesis under her supervision."
"That's not what I meant."
I knew what she meant.
"I don't know yet," I said. "The system just told me it was permanent. It didn't explain what that means."
"It never does."
No. It never did.
Claire leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "You can't get it back."
"I know."
"And you're not going to try anyway."
"There's no point."
"That's not what I asked."
I closed the textbook. "No. I'm not going to try."
She nodded, like that was the answer she'd expected. "Good."
"Good?"
"You've already lost it," she said. "Pretending otherwise just makes it worse."
She wasn't wrong. But hearing it out loud still stung.
"The system does this on purpose," Claire continued. "It takes something permanent so you'll stop thinking you can fix everything."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No. It's supposed to make you pay attention."
I didn't respond.
Claire stood, picking up her bag. "You're going to lose more before this is over. The question is whether you'll keep losing yourself trying to get it back."
She left before I could answer.
That night, I checked the system again.
The notification was still there, unchanged.
Permanent state registered.
Entity status: Professor Helena Arnett.
Classification: Trust revoked.
Restoration probability: 0%.
I scrolled past it, looking for something—an explanation, a loophole, a way to undo it.
There was nothing.
Just a new line at the bottom.
System note: Loss is a feature, not a failure.
I stared at it.
Loss is a feature.
Not an accident. Not collateral damage. A feature.
The system had taken something from me deliberately. And it had no intention of giving it back.
I sat there in the dark, phone glowing in my hand, and tried to figure out what I was supposed to do with that information.
The next morning, I ran into Professor Arnett on campus.
It was an accident. I wasn't looking for her. I'd just finished a class and was cutting through the admin building when I saw her coming down the stairs.
She saw me at the same time.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then she adjusted her bag and walked past me without a word.
I didn't try to stop her.
What would I even say?
By the time I turned around, she was already gone.
Later, Sienna asked me what I was going to do about it.
We were sitting in the campus coffee shop. She had a latte. I had water.
"Do about what?" I said.
"Arnett."
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"There's nothing to do."
Sienna stirred her latte, watching me. "You're not even going to try to explain?"
"She doesn't want to hear it."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do."
She set her spoon down. "So you're just... accepting it."
"I don't have a choice."
"Everyone has a choice."
I looked at her. "Not when the system says it's permanent."
Sienna was quiet for a moment. Then: "You're learning."
"Learning what?"
"That some things don't come back."
I didn't respond.
She picked up her latte and took a sip. "Most people fight it longer than you did."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"It's supposed to be an observation."
We sat in silence after that.
I thought about Professor Arnett's email. The note on her door. The way she'd walked past me without looking.
The system had taken something from me.
And for the first time, I wasn't trying to get it back.
That night, the system sent me one more notification.
SYSTEM NOTICE
Permanent loss acknowledged.
User adaptation detected.
Status: Learning phase complete.
I closed it without reading the rest.
Learning phase.
Right.
I wondered what came next.