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He blinked slowly. “You live off-campus in Berkeley. California, United States of America. With three roommates.”

Her head tilted slightly, wariness spiking.

“You usually walk to class,” he added, voice flat. “Rain sends you to the bus stop near the café. You study computer science. You often wear headphones and are partially distracted when moving through urban environments. If approached, you are unlikely to hear until physical contact is made.”

She blinked. “You got all that from my phone?”

“No,” he said. “

She stiffened, confusion flashing across her face before it calcified into something sharper. “What? How did you get it?”

He didn’t blink. “That information was relayed through another source.”

“Who?”

“Your sister, Anya.”

Chapter 2

MAYA’S BREATHhitched. She stared at him, and for a second, everything else fellaway.

Anya.

The name struck with the force of a blow. It had been weeks since Maya had last seen her sister, since the morning she vanished without explanation, leaving nothing behind but a silenced phone and a hollow apartment.

Sometimes, even now, Maya heard the echo of Anya’s laugh, bright, musical, asound that used to fill the space between them like light through a window. The last voicemail Anya left played in her memory without mercy:Hey, dork. Forgot to tell you I stole your hoodie. Again. Love you.That was it. No hint of finality. No goodbye. Just an ordinary message, threaded with love, and then nothing. The silence that followed had been louder than any scream.

After Anya had stopped communicating, Maya had searched. Filed reports. Called hospitals. Checked her home night after night until exhaustion claimed her. There were no clues. No goodbyes. Just a gaping hole where Anya had once been. Asilence that never answered.

And now this stranger—thisalien—spoke her sister’s name like it meant nothing.

“What did you just say?” she whispered.

“Your sister provided the information. Anya Anderson. Twin.”

He spoke with eerie stillness, hands at his sides, spine perfectly aligned, as if he’d delivered the sentence a hundred times before and never once questioned it. No flicker of emotion. No visible reaction.

“She described your location, your routine, your vulnerabilities,” he continued. “Class schedules. Preferred coffee shop. Walking paths. Time of day you’d be alone.”

His gaze remained locked on hers, unwavering, not cruel, just inflexible. “Her voice pattern passed all lie detection protocols. She gave us what we needed to complete the retrieval.”

Maya jolted against the restraints. “No. No. She’s missing. She vanished. She—”

Riv’En cut her off. “She is with Third. Voluntarily.”

The words didn’t make sense. Maya blinked, but the meaning didn’t change. Instead, it hit like a slap across her face, wrong, distorted, impossible. Her breath came too fast, too shallow, and the world tilted slightly, just enough to make her stomach twist.

Anya wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t betray her. Not for anything. Not willingly. Maya tried to picture it. Anya walking into a ship like this, giving up names, coordinates, pieces of Maya’s life. And it cracked something open in her chest. Acold, echoing space where certainty used to live. No. It wasn’t real. Whatever this creature believed, whatever he’d been told, it wasn’t Anya. It couldn’tbe.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, fury rising to boil just beneath her skin. “You’re lying.”

“I do not lie.”

“You’re wrong. She would never help you. She wouldn’t tell you a damn thing.”

“She gave detailed information.” His tone stayed flat, but a hint of tension edged each word now, as though saying it aloud required more effort than it should have. “Confirmed your habits. Your location. Your name.”

His shoulders squared, and he shifted slightly, as if grounding himself in doctrine. Still formal. Still rigid. But there was something in his stance now, afaint change that hadn’t been there before. “Her cooperation expedited the extraction,” he added. No hesitation. No apology. But his gaze narrowed, just slightly, like he was bracing for impact.