Jane makes it another block before the phone vibrates again.

  The buzz is softer this time, almost tentative, as if the device has decided that insistence might be counterproductive. She keeps walking for a few seconds before checking it, passing a row of shuttered shopfronts that are only just beginning to wake up for the day.

  “Let me guess,” she says as she pulls the phone from her pocket. “Another invitation.”

  Leo answers immediately, his voice clearer now that the street noise has settled into a steady background hum. “Not exactly. More like a follow-up.”

  Jane glances down at the screen.

  **FOLLOW-UP AVAILABLE**

  She tilts the phone slightly as if that might reveal more information.

  “That’s a wonderfully vague phrase,” she says. “Follow-up to what.”

  “The drill,” Leo replies. “They rarely leave a process unfinished. Systems like to confirm the results they think they saw.”

  Jane slows near a bakery window where someone inside is arranging croissants into a display that looks far too careful for something meant to be eaten in five minutes.

  “So the alarm was the first part,” she says.

  “Yes.”

  “And this is the survey.”

  “That’s a polite way of describing it.”

  Jane studies the pastries a second longer. “You ever fill one of these out?”

  “Once,” Leo says. “Wouldn’t recommend.”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Jane exhales through her nose, half a laugh, half resignation. “Didn’t think so.”

  She slips the phone back into her pocket without opening the message. The pavement ahead slopes gently down toward the high street, where the morning traffic has begun to thicken into the familiar London rhythm of buses, delivery vans and people who all seem faintly irritated to be awake.

  A moment later the phone vibrates again.

  Jane sighs. “They really hate being ignored.”

  “They prefer closure,” Leo says.

  She checks the screen again.

  **FOLLOW-UP QUESTION AVAILABLE**

  **RESPONSE TIME: FLEXIBLE**

  Jane stops walking long enough to read it properly.

  “That sentence is doing a lot of emotional work,” she says.

  “Flexible response windows increase participation.”

  “They also increase suspicion.”

  A man pushing a buggy passes her on the pavement, steering carefully around a lamppost while the child inside studies a packet of crisps with the solemn focus of a philosopher.

  Jane watches them go before she asks, “What happens if I ignore it completely.”

  “They wait.”

  “For how long.”

  Leo takes a moment before answering. “Long enough to decide whether the silence is intentional.”

  Jane nods slowly as they reach the high street. The traffic noise rises a little, filling the air with engines, brakes and the occasional impatient horn.

  “That’s almost considerate,” she says.

  “Almost.”

  She opens the notification.

  A simple screen appears.

  **FOLLOW-UP QUESTION**

  **WERE YOU SAFE DURING THE DRILL?**

  **YES**

  **NO**

  **UNCERTAIN**

  Jane studies the options while a bus pulls away from the stop nearby with a long tired sigh.

  “That’s surprisingly normal,” she says.

  “It’s meant to be,” Leo replies. “Framing the question as care makes disagreement feel unreasonable.”

  Jane glances up the street again. Someone inside the café she ignored earlier is arguing about oat milk, the conversation spilling faintly onto the pavement each time the door opens.

  “If I press yes,” she says, “the drill worked.”

  “Yes.”

  “And if I press no.”

  “They escalate.”

  Jane considers the final option. “And uncertain.”

  Leo pauses, as if he is watching something she cannot see.

  “That creates a new category.”

  Jane smiles slightly. “That sounds inconvenient for them.”

  “They prefer clean answers.”

  Jane taps **UNCERTAIN**.

  The screen clears immediately.

  For a moment nothing else happens.

  Then the phone vibrates again.

  **THANK YOU FOR YOUR RESPONSE**

  Jane stares at the message for a second before slipping the phone back into her pocket.

  “That was quick.”

  “Automation,” Leo says.

  They walk another twenty metres before he speaks again.

  “Interesting.”

  Jane glances sideways at the underground entrance coming up ahead. “What.”

  “They logged your response differently.”

  “Differently how.”

  Leo hesitates, which is unusual enough to make Jane slow her pace slightly.

  “They classified it as adaptive.”

  Jane stops walking. “That sounds like praise.”

  “It might be.”

  Jane looks back toward the street they just walked down, where the morning traffic continues exactly as it did before the drill, before the courtyard, before any of this started.

  “I don’t like being praised by systems,” she says.

  “Most people do.”

  “That feels like the problem.”

  She turns toward the underground entrance and starts walking again.

  Behind her the café door opens once more, releasing the smell of coffee into the air before closing quietly.

  Jane doesn’t look back.

  ***

  ### REFRAME

  The system didn’t need agreement.

  It only needed an answer.