"No," Mara said. Her voice was steady, but her pulse wasn't. "Not like this. Show me your face first. I need to know who—or what—I'm talking to."
The hooded man hesitated. Just for a second.
"…You asked for it," he said at last, a faint edge of mockery slipping through. "But be gentle, will you? I'm sensitive about my looks. Wouldn't want my ego bruised today."
Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and removed the hood. Then the holomask beneath it.
What looked back at her wasn't the face she'd expected.
Not a man.
A boy—no, young, but not young enough to be harmless. Late twenties, maybe. Sharp features softened by exhaustion rather than age. Ash-gray hair fell loosely around his face, and a thin scar cut just above his right eye, pale against his skin.
Mara blinked. "You don't look like how you sound."
"Ouch," he said lightly. "Harsh. Guess I need to work on being more intimidating."
Before she could react, he hooked two fingers into his mouth. The motion was sudden. Crude. Wrong.
Mara flinched, almost turning away.
He pulled out a small chip-like device, slick with saliva, and held it up between them.
"There," he said, slipping it between his fingers. "How do I sound now?"
When he spoke again, his voice was different—higher pitched, lighter. Still not quite boyish, but stripped of the weight it had carried before.
Mara stared. "A nano voice changer? You're that desperate to sound scary?"
His expression didn't change, but something behind it hardened.
"I could still slit your throat right here," he said calmly, "and not a single soul would notice. And even if they did? They wouldn't care. I'd be doing them a favour."
Mara didn't back down.
"A favour? What's that supposed to mean? And before that—what is this place?"
He exhaled slowly. "This? It used to be exactly what the board said. A nursery. A place meant for children."
His gaze flicked around the room.
"Then it stopped being that," he continued. "And became something else."
"The something else being?" Mara pressed.
He shrugged. "I have no clue."
That answer caught her off guard.
She frowned—but then remembered why she was here at all. Her jaw tightened.
"Did you take her?"
He tilted his head. "Vague. Take who?"
Something in her snapped.
"Don't fucking pretend," Mara said, her voice rising. "You took her, didn't you? My roommate. Sene."
"You had a roommate?" he said, brows lifting. "That's news to—" Mara moved before she realized she'd decided to.
In an instant she was on him, fingers fisted in his collar, slamming him back against the wall with a sharp metallic clang.
"STOP LYING," she shouted. "YOU EVEN MISTOOK HER FOR MY—FOR MY GIRLFRIEND THE LAST TIME WE MET. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"
Her voice cracked, words tumbling out faster now.
"How can someone exist one day and be gone the next like nobody even remembered their being? You know something about this. You do. Tell me you do. TELL ME—"
Her grip loosened.
"Please."
The word barely made it out.
Her rage collapsed into something smaller, uglier. She hated that she could feel it happening. and couldn't stop it.
The boy grimaced. "I should punish you for holding me like that," he said coolly. "But you already look miserable enough. Let go."
Mara released him at once.
She stepped back, staring at the floor, fists clenched. She couldn't bring herself to look up.
Vulnerability had never been something she allowed herself.
"I didn't take anyone," he said after a moment. "I have no interest in kidnappings or petty crimes like that."
He adjusted his coat.
"From what you're describing," he continued, "she wasn't taken. She was erased. Like code."
Mara's breath hitched.
"Her belongings are still there," she said quietly. "But she's gone from every photograph. Every record."
He went still.
"…Curious," he murmured. "This is a first for me too, Mara."
Her head snapped up.
"It's up to you whether you believe me," he went on. "But the city is capable of far more than we thought. And it's getting worse."
"What does that mean?"
"Think about it," he said. "She existed one day. Gone the next. No memories. No records. That's not a missing person."
He met her gaze.
"That's deletion. Deliberate."
Mara swallowed hard. "Why her? She never did anything wrong. If anything, it should've been me. I was the one who picked up the keepsong. I'm the one questioning things."
"That," he said quietly, "I don't know."
"Then why can only I remember?" she demanded. "What's special about me?"
His eyes searched her face, sharper now. "Believe me. I've been wondering the same thing."
Silence stretched.
"Then why," Mara said, voice low, "did you slip a note into my coat? Why give me coordinates to this place? Why bring me here?"
"Note?" He frowned. "Interesting. I didn't do that." Her chest tightened. "You're lying."
"I'm not," he said. "In fact, I was surprised you found this place at all. Not many do."
He studied her carefully. "Did anything strange happen when you entered?"
Mara hesitated. "The world… shifted. Buildings realigned. The space reoriented."
"Sounds about right."
"And before that," she continued, "I felt pain. Overwhelming emotions. Like they were leaking from this place."
"Of course you did," he said quietly. "I'm starting to think she might be right."
Mara stiffened. "Who?"
He shook his head. "Not my place to say. Whoever gave you that note wanted you here. Wanted us to meet."
She stared at him. "You're saying this was planned?"
"I avoid places like this," he replied. "I didn't plan on being here today."
"For us to meet…" Mara echoed. "Who would want that?"
"I would."
The voice wasn't his.
It came from everywhere at once—woven into the walls, the light, the hum beneath the floor. Mara and the boy turned in unison.