Chapter 5

  Elarina was eating lunch near the spare lockers at the back of the intake floor when Ressa found her. It was a narrow passage that smelled faintly of oil and reheated food. The lockers were dented and bruised, with many names scratched out and replaced, a history of hands that had opened and closed them too many times.

  It was Ressa who usually ate there.

  She said it was more peaceful. She said the change of air helped her stomach. She said a lot of things.

  She had a paper packet balanced on one knee and a fork in her hand. The food was rice and something brown and stewed. She was chewing when she spoke.

  “You look distracted,” Ressa said.

  “I’m not,” Elarina said. She closed her private log and slid it back into her bag. The motion was habitual. It felt unnecessary and necessary at the same time.

  Ressa’s eyes flicked to the bag, then back to Elarina’s face.

  “You shouldn’t be alone back here,” Ressa said.

  “I prefer it,” Elarina said. “Less noise.”

  Ressa did not smile. She set the fork down inside the packet and folded the top closed, careful and deliberate. Then she looked down the corridor, left and right, checking whether anyone might be close enough to hear.

  “Mirakei?” Ressa said.

  Elarina did not answer right away.

  “No,” she said.

  Ressa nodded once. Not agreement. Confirmation.

  “Bad sign,” Ressa said.

  Elarina waited. She had learned long ago that Ressa told stories in her own order. Interrupting only made her circle back.

  “What happened?” Elarina asked.

  Ressa leaned back against the lockers. The metal made a dull sound.

  “Hmmm. I was in Administration,” she said. “For something tiny, a delivery form. Should have taken five minutes and took thirty.”

  “That’s administration,” Elarina said.

  “Yes.” Ressa’s voice dropped slightly. “I was waiting. They didn’t think anyone was listening.”

  “Who didn’t?” Elarina asked.

  “Two of them. One from Records. One from Review.” Ressa lifted her fork again but did not eat. “Low voices. They were using codes. That’s what caught my ear.”

  Elarina let the word Review settle in her mind. It did not bring emotion with it. Just structure. Room, forms, the lower levels. Inaccessible, usually.

  “What codes?” she asked.

  Ressa hesitated. That, too, was a sign.

  “E-417,” Ressa said.

  Elarina kept her face fixed. She had learned that even a small change in expression could be pounced on by the wrong person in the wrong place.

  “That’s a subject code,” Elarina said.

  “Yes.” Ressa nodded. “It was flagged.”

  “How?” Elarina asked.

  “Do not assign,” Ressa said. “Family-level.”

  The words were precise. They niggled at her because they were precise.

  Elarina felt the number align with the red line on the console. She did not let that show.

  “Did they say a name?” she asked.

  Ressa shook her head. “Not the subject’s. They said Mirakei’s.”

  That landed harder than the code.

  “In what way?” Elarina asked.

  “They said the override had an operator,” Ressa said. “They said to keep the operator under observation.”

  “Observation,” Elarina repeated.

  Ressa made a small, humorless sound. “That’s the word they use when they don’t want to say investigation.”

  Elarina rested her hand lightly against the locker door. The metal was cool and grounding.

  “Did they mention me?” she asked.

  “No.” Ressa shook her head again. “Not by name. But the way they said it -” She tilted her head. “You were on that rail. You were the one who would be remembered if someone went looking.”

  Elarina considered that. In most cases, operators blurred into each other. Shifts overlapped. Faces changed. But unusual intakes created anchors. People remembered where they were when something went wrong.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “If they’re watching me,” Elarina said, “then Mirakei is already in trouble.”

  Ressa nodded. “That’s what I think.”

  “What else did you hear?” Elarina asked.

  Ressa hesitated again, then leaned closer.

  “They mentioned a transfer,” she said. “Contractor. Not internal. Unlisted facility. They used a courier mark I didn’t recognize.”

  “Did you memorize it?” Elarina asked.

  Ressa gave a thin smile. “Of course I did.”

  She wrote the mark on a scrap of paper from her pocket and slid it across. The mark was simple. A number and a letter. It meant nothing and something at the same time.

  “Why tell me?” Elarina asked.

  Ressa cocked her head and peered at her carefully. “Because you’re careful,” she said. “You don’t talk. And because you were there when it happened.”

  “And because?” Elarina asked.

  Ressa sighed. “Because I don’t like it when Review starts moving people around quietly. It means something is being buried.”

  Elarina folded the paper and placed it in her pocket.

  “If I ask about him,” she said, “it will be noticed.”

  “Yes,” Ressa said.

  “If I don’t,” Elarina said, “he disappears.”

  “Yes,” Ressa said again.

  They stood there for a moment, the intake floor humming faintly through the walls.

  “What would you do?” Elarina asked.

  Ressa considered. “I’d start with manifests. Not official ones. Oversight. Night transfers. Ask someone who’s bored and likes to feel important.”

  “Records,” Elarina said.

  “Records,” Ressa agreed. “Or contractors. Van drivers. Maintenance. People who move things without asking what they are.”

  Elarina nodded once.

  “Don’t use my name,” Ressa added.

  “I won’t,” Elarina said.

  Ressa picked up her food again. “Eat something,” she said.

  “I will later,” Elarina said.

  She didn’t.

  Administration smelled different from intake. Less metal. More filtered air. The floors were cleaner. The lighting was softer. It was designed to make people slow down and speak quietly.

  Elarina went to the front desk.

  “How may I direct your inquiry?” the clerk asked.

  The clerk had neat hair and a badge that listed her name in small, precise letters.

  “Mirakei Jalen,” Elarina said. “Operator. Intake floor.”

  The clerk typed. The sound of the keys was steady and impersonal.

  “No public records available,” the clerk said. “Per protocol.”

  “Is he on review?” Elarina asked.

  The clerk’s eyes flicked up for half a second, then back to the screen.

  “If you are a supervisor, you may file an internal request,” she said.

  “I’m not,” Elarina said.

  “Then I cannot provide details,” the clerk said.

  “Is he still employed?” Elarina asked.

  The clerk paused. That was a longer pause than before.

  “I cannot confirm or deny personnel status,” she said.

  Elarina nodded.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She filed a service request anyway. The system asked for the reason. She wrote: Concern for colleague. Request status update.

  The system responded with an automated message: Estimated response time: 72 hours.

  Seventy-two hours was too long. She left Administration and went to Records.

  Records was a narrow space with terminals set too close together. The air was warm from machines. People sat with shoulders hunched, their eyes fixed on screens.

  She found Tovan at his station. He had the look of someone who knew too much and said too little.

  “You look like you’re looking for a story,” Tovan said quietly.

  “I’m looking for a transfer,” Elarina said.

  “That’s not better,” he said.

  She did not smile. “Unlisted contractor,” she added. “Last night.”

  Tovan leaned back slightly. He glanced at the aisle.

  “That’s dangerous,” he said.

  “It’s about a coworker,” Elarina said.

  “That’s worse,” he said.

  “Can you check?” she asked.

  He rubbed his temple. “You’ll owe me.”

  “I will,” she said.

  He turned to a secondary terminal. Not the one visible from the aisle. He typed with practiced speed.

  “There is a transfer,” he said quietly. “Contractor mark. Unlisted facility. Three-hour window. No manifest name.”

  “Where?” Elarina asked.

  He wrote the facility number on a slip of paper and slid it across.

  “Not public,” he said. “Not in the usual districts.”

  “Thank you,” Elarina said.

  “Be careful,” he said. “This kind of thing draws attention.”

  “I know,” she said.

  She did not go straight home.

  She walked past the intake floor and stopped at Mirakei’s station. The temporary barrier was still there. No name; no notice.

  She stood for a moment, then moved on.

  That night, in her apartment, she sat at the small table and unfolded the paper again.

  The facility number meant little on its own. She searched in her private log. Cross-referenced districts she had heard mentioned. It was near an industrial corridor. Contractor territory. Places where official oversight was light.

  She did not feel fear. She felt alignment. A set of steps forming.

  Agatha’s voice came to her then, not as memory but as instruction.

  Do not draw attention to what makes you different.

  Agatha had said it more than once. She always said it quietly, usually pressing her hand into the small of Elarina’s back in a firm, repeated motion to emphasise each word.

  People will use what they cannot understand. Or they will try to remove it.

  Elarina closed the log.

  She slept.

  When she woke, the memory of the pen was still contained. Separate. Where she had placed it.

  The next day, she took a later shift.

  She told herself it was for rest. It was also for timing.

  She took a public transport line toward the industrial corridor. The seats were worn. The windows scratched. No one looked at anyone else.

  She got off two stops early and walked.

  The facility was unmarked. Grey building. No sign. A contractor van parked outside.

  She did not go in. She waited outside and watched.

  A man came out. Then another. They carried a sealed case between them.

  She did not see Mirakei. That was to be expected, though.

  She memorized the pattern of movement. The shift change. The timing of the door. Which guards knew each other well, how they greeted each other. Which ones looked as though they wanted to be anywhere else.

  She would come back.

  Because whatever had happened to Mirakei had clearly not ended.

  It had only been moved somewhere quieter.

  And quiet was a thing she understood very well.