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The next day, Sasha followed her scripted plan.

She did not linger in the house, too reminiscent of the night before. She did not treat that ugly discovery as a lead either. Perhaps in time she would have to, but for now the memory was so raw on her skin that she couldn't face it head-on—much less dive through the details with the precision of an investigator. So she retraced her steps from Arleon Tower, beginning with the most accessible destination.

The past few days had revealed three locations of interest: 42 Eastern, where the June 16th explosion had taken place; Central Hospital, where Louman said she had been delivered following the August 9th transport accident; and Kindle Facilities, where Vaughn had transferred Sasha before bringing her home to the Arleon. Kindle Facilities was government-restricted and her connector band did not grant her access. Sasha could code in a backdoor pass via the network, but she decided to hold off on explicitly illegal behavior beyond the network. Central Hospital was where her morning began.

Central Hospital in Sector 2 was not only the most accessible of her three locations of interest, but also accessible to all citizens of the Skyworld. Despite the open-armed welcome, the spacious atmosphere of the hospital tower was a testament to the city health. Sasha passed by idle doctors lounging in the gardens, languid conversations between visitors and workers, more luxury and life than there was any illness.

Well, she was among the floors seven hundreds. Some old knowledge whispered that down below three hundred, the scene was nothing similar.

Coincidentally, the woman she had come to speak with was in operation, so she waited on an open deck nearby. An elderly couple sat across the space, one in a wheelchair and the other reading to him from a tablet in her hand. Those were outdated things—little silver slates for consumers who wanted the confirmation of touch over the emptiness of holograms.

The couple, too, seemed outdated. In this era, it was not usual to see such visible age—dragging skin and deep wrinkles, balding heads and white, white hair. Science tended to be bought to hide the passage of time. For those who held the greatest power, like the Regents, science could be bought to far extend time.

The anachronism was not bad at first. It felt even beautiful to see the acceptance of inevitability in front of her. Two human beings, letting nature be nature, unafraid of time.

But the longer Sasha watched, the more unsettled she became. When the man coughed and the woman set aside her tablet to pat his back, Sasha realized it—she was not like them. She was distinctly afraid of time, and she was not sure why. Her father, perhaps, a victim of cerebral atrophy—that slow-coming death? Or perhaps another matter...

The old man looked up. Sasha looked quickly away.

She opened the screen of her connector to appear busy and not intrusive, scrolling through her contacts to take her mind off the unease. Her eyes caught Myeong and paused. Her father's surname, so it was likely a grandparent. Vaughn had said all her grandparents had been out of contact for a while; indeed, there was nothing in the message history.

Deciding that it couldn't hurt, Sasha equipped the earchip from her connector and sent an audio call. A script flashed across the holoscreen.

Invalid number.

Sasha frowned. She flipped through the rest of her contacts for anyone who might be family. Nothing. The Davis's on her mother's side were not listed. Perhaps she had been a particularly unlikeable relative.

Before she could think too long on it, the deck entrance slid open and an older lady walked out. She looked around until she saw Sasha, then approached her with a warm smile. The woman's arms spread for an embrace.

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