Chapter 19: "The Boy with the Broken Compass"
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Finch arrived late.
He was younger than Aidan expected—maybe sixteen. Wiry, twitchy, and dressed in oversized clothes like he didn't quite know how to fit into his own body, much less the world.
They met at a public library in the outer district. Low traffic. Cameras. Safe.
Aidan had chosen the spot carefully.
"Finch?" he asked, standing by the open reading bay.
The boy gave a cautious nod. His eyes darted to the corners of the room like a bird in an open sky unsure where the predator might strike.
"You came alone?" Aidan asked.
Finch gave a strained chuckle. "Alone's all I've got."
Aidan gestured for him to sit. "You said your system is active. How long?"
"Three months," Finch said. "But it doesn't... work right. It gives me missions, yeah, but they're always vague. Like 'Find what's missing' or 'Correct your trajectory.' I call it the Compass. But it doesn't tell me what direction to go—it just spins."
Aidan frowned. "It's a minor system. Experimental, maybe. Self-guided adaptation."
"Whatever it is," Finch muttered, "it's ruining my life. My parents think I'm schizophrenic. I barely sleep. And lately, it's started talking about others."
"Others?"
Finch nodded, his eyes flicking to Aidan's. "People with systems. Five of them. One—'The Anchor'—is dangerous, it says. The others are static. But one... one has a Core that can evolve."
Aidan went very still.
"It said that yesterday," Finch continued. "Then today, your message came."
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Aidan ran a trace protocol inside his Core while they spoke.
He wasn't just listening to Finch's story—he was recording emotional stress patterns, speech cadence, biometric clues.
The boy was telling the truth.
The Compass wasn't just dysfunctional—it was sensitive. It reacted to nearby systems and described their nature metaphorically.
A tracker.
Possibly even an early warning signal.
Aidan leaned forward. "You've had no contact with Ghostlink?"
"No. But someone's been watching me. I can feel it."
Aidan tapped his pad, opened a locked channel on his Decision Web sub-network.
"I'm building something," he said. "A decentralized link between people like us. You won't be alone anymore."
Finch's hands trembled slightly. He blinked rapidly.
Then whispered, "You sound like him."
Aidan stiffened. "Like who?"
"The guy with the anchor."
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Later that night, Aidan sat in his apartment alone.
He pulled up his system console. The Core pulsed with quiet light.
> [Update Received: Finch's System Profile Archived]
[Compass Class: Instinct-Based, Emotional Feedback Loop, 17% Compatible]
[Suggested Action: Add to Passive Monitoring Layer?]
> Y / N
He hovered over the option.
Then selected Y.
A new thread opened.
And with it—another question appeared:
> [Would You Like to Locate "The Anchor"?]
> Risk Level: High
Accuracy: 39%
> Confirm?
Aidan hesitated.
Then clicked No.
Not yet.
But the board was starting to form.
The pieces were falling into place.
And he wasn't the only one who could see the game.
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Meanwhile, in a windowless room across the city, a girl sat with wires attached to her temple.
She was maybe seventeen. Calm. Too calm.
On her screen was a profile.
Name: Riven Vale
System Class: Evolving Core
Threat Level: Escalating
Directive: Observe. Record. Do Not Interact... Yet.
She whispered to herself, voice devoid of tone:
"Decision Core... You're not the only one evolving."
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