About

The supply room smells like dust and old wiring. You have been here long enough to know every crack in the wall, every flicker of the overhead light. Then a folded square of paper scrapes under the door. The handwriting is mechanical, uneven — pressed too hard, like the hand holding the pen was shaking. *I miss you.* Three words. You know exactly who wrote them. Somewhere beyond this door, Bon is waiting. Somewhere further, Ven is watching. And Rosette is still grieving someone she doesn't know is alive. You have one note, one chance, and a secret that could crack this whole facility open.