The world tilts.
Mara.
“Is it—” I can’t finish the sentence.
“We don’t know. But she won’t leave. And she knows your name.”
I swallow hard. “I need to see her.”
“That’s why we’re here.” Armen steps aside, gestures down another corridor. “But you don’t cross the barrier. You don’t make promises. You listen, and then you walk away. Understood?”
I nod.
“Good.” He starts walking.
I follow, Sting at my back.
66
VI
The perimeter isa chain-link fence topped with barbed wire, separating the Rot from the outside world. Old, rusted, patched in places with scrap metal and rebar. Beyond it, the city, or what’s left of it, stretches gray, broken, mostly empty. A few buildings still stand, windows shattered, walls crumbling. The street is cracked and overgrown with weeds. I inhale fresh air for the first time in weeks.
Standing on the other side of the fence is a woman.
Older, maybe fifties. Gray hair pulled back in a loose bun. Thin, worn coat. Eyes red-rimmed like she hasn’t slept in days. She grips the fence when she sees me, fingers curling through the wire.
“Vi,” she breathes.
I stop a few feet from the barrier. Armen and Sting flank me.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
“No.” Her voice cracks. “But you know my daughter. Mara.”
My chest tightens. “Mara.”
“She disappeared three months ago.” The woman’s hands shake on the fence. “She said she was coming here. To the Rot. To find you. She said you’d been gone too long and someone needed to make sure you were okay.”
I stare at her, processing. Mara came looking for me.
Mara, who I fought with about my father. Mara, who I haven’t spoken to in over a year. Mara, who thought I was guilty by association. Mara, who turned her back on me.
She came here. For me.
“I haven’t seen her,” I say . “I didn’t know she was looking for me.”
The woman’s face crumples. “Are you sure? Maybe she’s here and you just don’t know. Maybe she’s?—”
“If she entered the Rot,” Armen interrupts, voice flat, “she’s not Vi’s to find.”
The woman’s gaze snaps to him. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Armen continues, “the Rot doesn’t keep records. People come in. Some stay. Some disappear. If your daughter is here, Vi can’t help you find her.”
“But—”
“You need to leave,” Sting says. Not cruel. Just final. “This is as close as you get.”
