It’s 2:17 a.m.
You promised your self a midnight cutoff, however the blue-white glow is again, licking the partitions like a silent hearth.
One other video. One other microscopic hit of reassurance that you simply’re nonetheless tethered to the world.
Scroll.
Your thumb doesn’t twitch accidentally; it obeys a calculus you by no means wrote — one refined in actual time by machines that learn your pupils, your pulse, your breath.
You sense the entice.
However you keep.
Someplace between the subsequent clip and the one after, you are feeling the primary hairline fracture in your focus.
A faint, metallic ping — like a submarine hull underneath strain.
Ignore it, and the crack spreads in spirals.
Discover it, and the evening sharpens.
Both means, the algorithm information the tremor.
It at all times information the tremor.
