The four hours felt like four years.
I didn't sleep. Couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes I saw my father's face, that expression he'd worn my entire life like a tailored suit, the one that treated everything from stock reports to murder with the same flat interest. I saw my mother too, or the idea of her, a woman I couldn't remember who'd tried to save me and died for it.
Three years old. Erased by design.
I made coffee I didn't drink. Cleaned a kitchen Cheon had already cleaned. Opened the fridge four times and closed it without taking anything.
The system stayed dark. No notifications. No smug commentary about my protagonist percentage or my questionable life choices. Just silence where the voice usually lived, and somehow that bothered me more than anything my father had said.
At six oh three AM, the elevator hummed to life.
I was at the door before it opened.
