Killroy checked his terminal three times before breakfast. The district overseer's review was six days away. Six days until he could finally prove his worth with a perfect compliance record. He had followed every rule precisely this cycle. Every form submitted on time. Every protocol observed down to the smallest detail. But the message arrived at 07:14, marked urgent. The compliance officer who had signed off on the old rule wanted to meet. Today. At the plaza beneath the overseer's statue. Killroy's hands shook as he read it twice more. The officer had been silent for three years. The message gave no reason for contact, only a time and coordinates. Killroy walked to the plaza early, his stride measured to avoid drawing attention from the cameras hidden in the statue's glowing eyes. The officer was already there, older now, with gray at the temples. She looked at Killroy for a long moment before speaking. The old rule was being audited. Someone had flagged the signatures. She needed to know exactly what Killroy had done back then, and whether anyone else knew about it.

Killroy tried to salvage it. He asked which parts she had reported, whether she had mentioned the timing, if there was any way to clarify the context before the review. The officer shook her head at each question. She had sent everything two days ago. The overseer's office had confirmed receipt. There was nothing left to negotiate. She pulled a folded document from her jacket and held it out. It was a copy of the report form, stamped and dated, with Killroy's identification number in the third column. The officer said she was sorry, but she had followed protocol. Then she walked away. Killroy stood beneath the statue and looked at the paper. Six days until the review. Six days until the overseer opened his file and found the flag. The perfect record he had built this cycle would not matter. The audit would reach back through the years and find the old rule, and the overseer would reset everything to zero. Killroy folded the paper once, then again, until it was small enough to fit in his pocket. He had wanted proof that the officer had protected him. Instead, he had proof that she had ended him. The blade had already fallen. He was just waiting for the rest of the system to notice.