A notification glowed on Zayd’s screen. The message was in a plain, official typeface, and it felt like a final verdict. As he read the words, a cold, tight knot of dread formed in his stomach. The system had given him one week. One week to figure out what was wrong with Bassam.
A wave of pure disgust hit him. He shoved himself back from the desk, and his chair rolled away with a frustrated squeak. He dragged a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the anxiety the message had left behind.
“Maybe there’s nothing wrong with him at all,” he muttered to the empty room, his voice low and full of contempt. He glared at the screen as if it were the system itself. “He’s just quiet. He’s always been quiet. Maybe this stupid system is just trying to scare me for no reason.”
He stood up and star
