Custodial witness present during containment breach involving Routing Tier 7 cross-layer file loop. Incident logged. Seal authority matched obsolete format.
Status: Pending System Realignment
Caldra stared at her own name, listed as if the event had passed.
Cassel’s name was absent—replaced by a note: “Status Flagged – Not Found in Profile Index.”
She ran a live index check on Cassel’s ID.
It came back blank.
Then loaded.
Then reverted to Standard Support Staff.
A breath caught. Not in her throat. In the system.
The screen flickered.
SYSTEM ALERT
GHOST PROTOCOL ACTIVATED
Level 1 Custodial Isolation in Progress
Archival Overlay Engaged
Access Restricted to Verified Custodians
Do you acknowledge the deviation?
[YES] [NO]
Her cursor hovered.
She didn’t click.
Instead, she looked at the files now open on her screen.
Each one showed the same exact timestamp:
00:00:00
Her clock still read 11:43 AM.
A status bar appeared across the bottom of the terminal:
[TEMPORAL VERIFICATION: FAILED]
[IDENTITY MATCH: INCONCLUSIVE]
[ROUTING INTEGRITY: COMPROMISED]
The phrasing was wrong—too imprecise. Too… human.
No audio alert. Just a soft, arrhythmic clicking—like chalk tapping on glass.
She maintained stillness.
Movement during a system anomaly could trigger tracking protocols. That’s how they caught the last Routing Clerk who tried to override a refile.
His cursor had drifted.
The status bar changed:
[ARCHIVE MEMORY ACTIVATED]
[CUSTODIAL INTERVENTION REQUIRED]
[ELAPSED TIME: –00:34:21]
Negative time.
She closed the alert window.
The files did not close with her.
One of them began retyping itself.
Scene 2: Echo Layer
The document stopped mid-word.
Not with a period. Not with a command. Just—absence.
Caldra stood.
She didn’t trust movement in the Annex when the system changed its tone.
It wasn’t fear. It was calibration.
She moved to the rear alcove—the Chalk Wall.
Once used for live routing maps and deviation diagrams, the surface now lay under faded grid marks, barely legible mathematical sprawl, and phantom chalk residue from long-forgotten projects.
Today, someone had added to it.
Fresh.
In chalk.
She hadn’t drawn it.
It was a spiral, encircled by three stamped words—written in her own handwriting:
"Trigger logged."
"Layer observed."
"Delay acceptable."
She didn’t move.
The spiral pulsed faintly—an optical trick, or maybe an echo.
She did not touch it.
Behind her, the terminal blinked once.
Her name flashed across the screen:
C. MYRE – CUSTODIAN RECORD UPDATED
Deviation Acknowledgment: IMPLIED
Emotional Stabilization: PASSIVE
Clearance Level: SILENT TYPE IV
She had never seen that classification before.
She had not acknowledged anything.
And she had never signed anything.
She turned back to the Chalk Wall.
The spiral was gone.
Only the words remained.
And beneath them, newly written in faint chalk—two letters:
E. M.
Scene 3: Paper Trail
The archive was still humming.
Not from the ventilation. Not from the backup generators.
From something deeper.
Caldra returned to her secondary terminal—the one not connected to the central registry network. The one she had modified herself.
FILE 005 – In-Character Description (C. Myre)
A document arrived early.
A name went missing.
A protocol activated itself.
I didn't authorize any of it.
(The spiral wasn't there this morning. Neither was the message.
But I know the handwriting. And I don’t remember writing it.)
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