The addendum became a printed notice three days later.
VOLUNTARY DISCLOSURE PROTOCOL — ACTIVE
Self-reporting reduces escalation classification.
Unreported discrepancies subject to Tier review.
It was smaller than the Tier notice.
Placed lower on the board.
But more people read it twice.
Kael stood before it longer than he meant to.
"Reduces escalation classification," he repeated quietly.
The senior clerk sorted slips beside him.
"It rewards honesty," she said.
"It incentivizes preemptive confession."
She did not disagree.
In the Tier lanes, a new rhythm formed.
People approached the pre-verification desk not only with slips, but with explanations already prepared.
"My cousin visited."
"My work shift overlapped curfew."
"My seal smudged last night."
Minor things.
Voluntarily logged.
The junior clerk wrote faster than before.
Observation: disclosed.
Escalation: reduced.
Tier: maintained.
The square felt orderly.
The lines shorter.
The voices softer.
Lyria watched a man from Transitional lean toward the desk and lower his voice before speaking.
He had not been accused.
He spoke like he had.
She stepped closer.
"What are you reporting?" she asked.
He flinched slightly at her presence.
"I stepped into Tier Two by mistake yesterday," he said quickly. "Only for a moment. I corrected myself."
The clerk blinked.
"That's not recorded."
"It could be," the man replied.
Silence settled between them.
Kael felt it.
The clerk dipped her pen.
Observation: minor misplacement self-disclosed.
Escalation: none.
The man bowed his head slightly and moved on.
Lyria's jaw tightened.
"They're rehearsing guilt," she said quietly to Kael.
"They're reducing risk," he replied.
"At what cost?"
He did not answer.
Because the cost was not loud enough to quantify.
At midday, a woman from Low Weave arrived with her teenage son.
"He left the house after curfew," she said. "To fetch water."
The boy stared at the ground.
The clerk wrote it down.
"Reason?"
"Water," the woman repeated.
"Was the checkpoint crossed?"
"No."
"Logged."
The boy's seal was marked with a small notation.
Compliance: monitored.
The woman exhaled in relief.
"See?" she whispered to her son. "It listens."
Behind them, Maera watched.
"It doesn't listen," she murmured to Garron. "It absorbs."
Garron's iron fingers flexed once.
Above, Soryn read the first Voluntary Disclosure Summary.
Self-reports increasing.
Unrecorded violations decreasing.
Tier stability improving.
"Behavioral normalization," the scribe said.
"Yes," Soryn replied.
She closed the packet and looked out at the square.
No shouting.
No protest.
No need for visible enforcement.
Care had scaled.
Conscience was quieter.
In Low Weave that evening, Iri held her slip and stared at the small marks accumulating beside her name.
Verification.
Extension.
Disclosure.
The boy watched her.
"Should we report if I trip on the partition?" he asked.
She looked up sharply.
"That's not how it works."
"But if they see it later—"
"They won't."
He nodded slowly.
He was learning the shape of the net.
The square dimmed under lantern light.
People moved with prepared statements in their mouths.
Compliance had become conversational.
And the system no longer had to ask first.