Hope's grip on the coffee cup remained firm as he observed the woman approaching him. Her movements were precise, calculated—like someone used to commanding authority.
In her left hand, she held a file—its edges slightly worn, as if it had been handled frequently.
She stopped a few steps away, flipping it open with a practiced motion.
Her gaze lifted, sharp and assessing.
"My name is Ascended Cara," she stated, her tone even but carrying an underlying firmness. "I'll be in charge of your case."
Hope remained silent.
She didn't seem to expect a response, continuing as she skimmed through the file.
"We didn't find any information about you while you were in the Ashlands," she said.
Hope kept his face impassive, but internally, he processed the weight of that statement.
They had searched for his records.
And found nothing.
No name. No background. No past.
For all intents and purposes, he didn't exist.
Cara closed the file with a soft thud and met his eyes again.
"So you'll come with me," she said simply, turning toward the exit without waiting for his response.
Hope exhaled through his nose.
No choice, huh?
He glanced down at himself, taking in his patient gown—a simple, sterile garment that clung to his body with a loose fit. His skin still tingled slightly, as if recovering from something much deeper than physical wounds.
Then his eyes landed on the tag pinned to his chest.
C53.
A code—not a name.
Something about it left an uneasy feeling in his stomach, but he shoved the thought away.
Slowly, he adjusted his posture, planting his feet on the cold tiled floor. His body still felt off, like an unfamiliar weight had settled in his limbs, but he forced himself to move.
The first step was unsteady.
The second, stronger.
By the time he followed Cara up the metallic staircase, his body had begun adapting.
The ascent was silent, but not the kind that felt comfortable.
It was the silence of observation.
Hope could feel eyes on him—unseen, but undeniably present. Whether from security cameras, hidden personnel, or something else, he couldn't tell.
The path through the facility was a maze of corridors, twisting and turning through sterile, white-walled hallways. The lighting was consistent, yet somehow too perfect, casting no shadows deep enough to hide in.
Doors lined the halls, some with numbered plaques, others with frosted glass concealing what lay beyond. Occasionally, a scientist in a lab coat would pass by, their hurried steps echoing faintly.
But none of them looked at him.
Or rather—
They avoided looking at him.
Hope took note of that.
Finally, after what felt like an endless series of turns, Cara stopped in front of a secluded room.
A single door, reinforced with a small, square window.
She placed her hand on the scanner beside it, and with a soft beep, the door unlocked.
Pushing it open, she gestured inside without a word.
Hope stepped in.
The room was bare-bones, almost unnervingly so.
A table sat in the center, metal and bolted to the floor.
A chair, positioned directly across from it.
No decorations. No unnecessary furniture.
Just a space designed for one thing—interrogation.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Hope knew one thing for certain.
He was back in the waking world....