The note wasn't there when he left. But when Jessy returned to his dorm, stiff with dust and silence, it was waiting for him.
Folded. Carefully placed on his cot. No print. No mark of entry.
Inside: A single, time-worn photograph.
Two children. A boy and a girl.Hospital room. Old oxygen masks.Half-lit by a window that didn't show the sky.
The boy was unmistakable. Messy black hair. Tired eyes. Cheek turned like he didn't want to be seen.
It was him.
The girl, though...
Something tugged at his stomach.Not recognition. Not memory.Something older. Buried.
She had light hair, tucked under a scarf. A scar down one wrist. Wide, frightened eyes—too calm for a child. Too still.
Jessy turned the photo over.
Nothing written. No date. No stamp.
Just the number: 07 and a faint, red fingerprint that wasn't his.
He didn't sleep that night.
He stared at the photo from the edge of his cot until morning bled through the blinds like weak veins.
At dawn, he limped to the infirmary.
***
The hallway buzzed with dead bulbs. Two guards. One scanner. Jina was still on the third floor, far from the numbered agents, deeper than most trainees ever went.
Jessy didn't knock. The nurse stepped aside before he reached the door.
Inside, it smelled like cold linen and alcohol burn.
Jina lay against a pile of blankets. Her chest rose with visible effort. Her lips were dry. But her eyes opened when he walked in.
"You look worse," she rasped.
"So do you."
He unfolded the photo.
"Do you remember her?"
Jina blinked slowly.
Then again.
And again.
"Jess…"
"Take your time."
Her voice was almost a whisper.
"That's not me?"
Jessy's fingers tightened on the edge of the photo.
"You sure?"
"She used to come sit with me. In the quiet room. The one Dad said wasn't real."
"What was her name?"
Jina's breath caught.
Then she said it:
"Valera."
Jessy exhaled.
His blood went cold, not fear.Something heavier.
A name said twice now. Once from Tessa.Once from Jina.
And still, no record of her existed.
"Dad didn't like her," Jina added."He said she remembered things that never happened."
Jessy stared at the photo again.
The girl's expression wasn't afraid.
It was expecting something.
Jina touched his sleeve, fingers shaking.
"She had that same tag you wear now. Only black."
Jessy turned to her.Fast.
"What do you mean black?"
"Dad said it was... a failed badge."
"He told me not to look at it too long. Said the number burned wrong."
He reached into his jacket.
Pulled out his tag.
Still metal. Still silver.
He placed it next to the photo on the edge of her bed.
Jina stared.
Then her face went pale.
"That's not your name."
Before he could ask...Her monitor spiked.
Her body jerked once, seizure-like.Jessy hit the call button. The red one.
The room hissed open.
Two medics rushed in, lifting, bracing, and stabilizing.
Jessy backed into the corner, fists clenched, photo pressed flat in one palm.
As they worked, one of the medics checked her wrist monitor.
Frowned.
"REDROOM-PASSIVE flag just flashed," he said to the nurse.
"False alarm?"
"Don't know. Could be latent."
The nurse looked at Jessy.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Where did you get that photo?"
Jessy didn't answer.
She reached for it.
He stepped back.
"I asked a question."
"And I didn't answer."
They let him leave.But only because he left too fast to be stopped.
He walked until the hall changed color.
Grey tiles. Metal ceiling.The hallway where no cameras buzzed. Where every step echoed wrong.
He stared at the photo again.
And saw it for what it really was:
Not a memory.
A message.
He flipped it over.
The faint red fingerprint was still there.This time, he pressed his own against it.
And the print pulsed.Once.Red to black.Then vanished.
Jessy stared.
And whispered:
"What the hell are you?"
***
Later that day...
Jessy stood barefoot on the padded floor, his ribs still taped, eyes half-closed. Sweat already rolled down his spine.
The walls of the training hall had no mirrors.
Just black slabs. Scuffed, soundless. Built not to reflect, but to absorb.
Today's routine wasn't power drills or sparring.
It was control.
Balance.Observation.
"Instinctless movement," they called it.
The kind that doesn't leave a trace.
He breathed in. Counted to six.
He breathed out. Counted to eight.
Again. Again. Again.
His body wanted to move faster. Hit something. Bleed it.But control came first.
And that's when he felt it.
The shift.
He opened one eye.
She was standing in the observation box above the mat, arms folded. Still, as the room itself.
Tessa.
Not a clipboard in sight. Not even a commlink.
Just her, behind bulletproof glass.
Watching.
Why is she here?
She never came to low-level drills.
Didn't waste her time on new bloods.
Unless…
Jessy lowered his center of gravity.
Shifted his stance.
Began moving again, but slower.
More precise.
Letting her see him hesitate.
Then correct it.
Goro was in the corner, chewing gum like it owed him money.
He tapped his boot against the wall rhythmically. Not quite a signal. Not quite random.
"You're overthinking," he said.
"Maybe."
"She's not here for your breathing, Smelly."
Jessy moved into a sweep stance. Let his weight shift just off-balance.
Caught it.
"She's here for something else, then."
Goro snorted. "She's Red Specter. They don't tell anyone why they're watching. They just do."
Jessy paused mid-roll.
"What's Red Specter?"
Goro blinked once.
Didn't answer.
Later, in the locker room, Jessy peeled off the sweat-soaked wrap around his ribs. It stuck to a healing bruise one shaped like a boot heel.
He pulled his shirt over it, wincing.
The lights buzzed above him. One flickered.
He ignored it.
Until he turned toward the mirror.
There was a reflection now.
Tessa stood behind him.
Not close. Not far.
Her reflection didn't flicker with the light.
Her eyes met his in the mirror.
"You broke routine today."
Jessy didn't flinch.
"Control isn't routine."
"Your stance dipped."
"I recovered."
"But you faltered."
He turned slowly.
Met her eyes directly.
"What are you looking for?"
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately.
"Do you know why most agents fail after receiving their codename?"
"Because the system starts watching?"
"No."
"Because they start wondering who they were before it."
That hung in the air too long.
Jessy's throat tightened.
He thought of the photo again. The little girl in the hospital. The print on the back that vanished.
He thought of Jina's whisper:
"That's not your name."
"Who was Valera?" he asked quietly.
Tessa blinked once. Slowly.
Then stepped closer.
Jessy didn't move.
She leaned forward just enough for her voice to drop:
"That name doesn't belong to this sector."
"It was said to me. Twice."
"Names that don't belong," she said, "tend to burn the mouth that speaks them."
She stepped back. Adjusted the cuff of her coat.
"You should get your ribs re-wrapped. Your left side's compensating too much."
"Thanks for watching."
She smiled. Flat.
"I wasn't watching you. I was watching the space around you."
"Why?"
"Because you've stopped filling it like a human."
She walked away. Quiet heels on rubber tile.
Jessy didn't move for a long time.
Not until he noticed the mirror again.
There was a print on it now. On the left side.
Faint. Red. Five fingertips.
Like someone had leaned in.
Or like something had pushed through.