The corridor assigned to probationary cases was quieter than the main hall, but it wasn't empty.
Kael noticed that immediately.
The walls were narrower here, the light marginally dimmer—not enough to suggest neglect, but enough to signal priority. People passed through in both directions, though fewer lingered. Conversations were brief. Instructions were delivered in clipped tones and received without argument.
No one smiled.
An attendant led Kael to a small room set off the main probation corridor. It contained a single table, two chairs, and a flat surface embedded into the far wall—another device, dormant for now. There were no restraints. No visible wards. Nothing that suggested danger.
That alone made Kael wary.
"Sit," the attendant said, gesturing to the chair opposite the table.
Kael did. Slowly. His body protested the motion, stiffness blooming along his spine and ribs as he lowered himself. He kept his breathing measured, careful not to reveal how much effort the simple act required.
The attendant took the other chair. He carried a thin slate, its surface flickering faintly with lines of light that shifted as his fingers moved.
"Probationary assignment is standard procedure for unclassed cases," he said, voice flat. "You'll be given access to low-risk tasks while the system observes performance."
Kael inclined his head. "What qualifies as low-risk?"
The attendant paused, as if the question were mildly unexpected.
"Tasks with historically low casualty rates," he said. "Stable environments. Controlled variables."
Kael thought of the way the registry device had resisted him. The pressure that had wrapped around his chest, then slid aside. He said nothing.
"You'll be accompanied," the attendant continued. "Observation only. No interference unless necessary."
Kael nodded again.
The slate chimed softly.
The attendant glanced down, then back up. "Assignment will begin immediately."
Of course it would.
They didn't give him time to recover. Systems rarely did.
Kael stood when prompted. The motion was easier this time—not painless, but manageable.
They exited through a different door than the one he'd entered. The street beyond was broader here, lined with structures that rose in clean verticals. The hum was louder in this district.
"This is your team," the attendant said.
Kael counted four others.
"This is a sweep," the woman leading them said. "Low probability of hostile engagement."
Kael filed the words away.
They moved to the outskirts.
The air thickened the moment they crossed the threshold.
Constructs appeared—unstable, converging.
"Fall back," the woman ordered.
The exit collapsed.
Pressure mounted.
Kael felt the world hesitate.
He stepped forward.
Not because he wanted to.
Because if he didn't, someone would die.
The construct struck.
Pain exploded through his ribs.
He did not scream.
He held.
The team recovered.
Silence followed.
Low-risk.
They returned with no casualties.
"Stabilization noted," the attendant said later.
Kael felt the faint resistance coil tighter around him, as if something unseen had paid attention.
Low-risk, the system would say.
Acceptable.
Kael wondered how many times the world would ask him to hold before it admitted what it was really measuring.