Arjun stopped writing in the notebook after that.
Not because he was afraid of what he might record, but because the act of recording had begun to feel like a declaration. He did not want to announce awareness. He wanted to observe what happened when he behaved as if nothing had changed.
For a few days, the system seemed to relax.
Meetings returned to their usual rhythm. No wellness notifications. No quiet adjustments. Even the limited analytics access remained untouched, as if its existence had been forgotten.
Arjun almost believed he had imagined the tension.
Then, on Thursday afternoon, he received an invitation marked mandatory.
The subject line read Performance Continuity Review.
The invite included him, his manager, and someone he did not recognize. The unfamiliar name was Raghav Iyer.
Arjun searched the directory. Raghav role was listed as external advisor. No department. No reporting line. No photograph.
The meeting room was already occupied when Arjun arrived. Raghav stood by the window, looking out at the city. He turned and smiled when Arjun entered.
"Arjun, right?" Raghav said. "We have not met properly."
His voice was calm. Not rehearsed. Not overly warm.
They shook hands. Raghav grip was firm but brief, as if even that contact had been measured.
The meeting began on time.
"This is not a review in the traditional sense," Raghav said. "It is a continuity check."
Arjun waited. He had learned not to fill silence.
"Organizations depend on predictability," Raghav continued. "When someone takes on additional responsibility unexpectedly, we like to ensure that nothing fragile develops around them."
"Fragile?" Arjun asked.
"Stress points," Raghav said. "Dependencies. Single points of failure."
His manager nodded, relieved that someone else was doing the talking.
Raghav looked directly at Arjun. "How have you been feeling since the transition?"
"Fine," Arjun replied. "Busy, but fine."
Raghav smiled. "That is usually the correct answer."
There was no challenge in his tone. Just acknowledgment.
They spoke for twenty minutes. About workload. About resilience. About sustainability. Raghav asked questions that sounded open ended but never invited deviation. Each response Arjun gave was met with understanding, then gently redirected back to equilibrium.
By the end, nothing had been decided. No actions assigned. No warnings issued.
As they stood to leave, Raghav said, "If you ever feel pressure building in ways that are difficult to articulate, let us know early. People wait too long."
"Of course," Arjun said.
Outside the room, his manager exhaled. "That went well."
Arjun agreed. It had.
That was what disturbed him.
Later that evening, Shreya listened as he described the meeting.
"Did he threaten you?" she asked.
"No," Arjun said. "He did not need to."
"What did he do then?"
"He normalized everything," Arjun replied. "Including me."
Shreya was quiet for a moment. "That is how containment works."
The word settled between them.
That night, Arjun received an email from Raghav.
"Good speaking with you today. As discussed, nothing to action right now. Please take care of yourself."
No signature. No contact number.
Arjun stared at the message longer than necessary.
The next morning, Meera texted him.
"Do you know someone named Raghav Iyer?"
Arjun fingers hovered over the screen.
"Why?" he finally replied.
"I requested comment from a corporate advisor with that name for an unrelated piece," she wrote. "My editor told me to drop it. Said he was not someone worth misunderstanding."
Arjun felt the last illusion dissolve.
Raghav was not there to solve problems.
He was there to make sure problems never formed identities.
That evening, Arjun opened the notebook again.
There are people whose job is not to control behavior, but to prevent it from becoming visible.
He closed the notebook and placed it back in the drawer.
For the first time, he understood that he was no longer observing a system.
He was inside a process designed to keep him ordinary.
And ordinary, he realized, was not neutral.
It was enforced.