Mara told herself it had to be a mistake in the database, some bureaucratic glitch that only looked like reality shifting. But the longer she stared at the building, the more the details refused to stay still. A light flickered on the third floor—soft, amber, like a lamp in a lived-in room. Then another. She leaned forward without meaning to, breath fogging the window, as if the glass itself might answer her if she pressed close enough.
Her phone vibrated again. No notification banner this time—just a single incoming call labeled MARA. She didn’t touch it, but it answered anyway. A static hush filled her ear, followed by a voice that sounded almost like hers, but slightly delayed, as if speaking from the wrong end of a long tunnel. “Don’t look at the windows,” it said. “If they see you noticing them, they’ll remember you properly.”
