"I need some things."
"What kind of things?"
"Tools. Cleaning supplies. A lock for the door at the end."
He didn't ask why.
"I'll make a list."
"Thank you, Matt."
"Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen the water pressure."
The apartment was smaller than I remembered.
I'd left it weeks ago—or maybe months, or maybe just days—and nothing had changed. The bed was still unmade. The dishes were still in the sink. The walls were still bare, and the air was still stale, and the only thing that felt familiar was the absence.
No Gabriel.
No collar.
No pink room.
Just me and the silence and the ghost of someone who'd never really been there.
"This is where you've been staying?"
Matt was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.
"Yes."
"It's small."
"I don't need much."
"You need more than this."
He walked inside, his footsteps careful on the bare floor. He didn't touch anything. Didn't open the closet or the drawersor the refrigerator. He just stood in the center of the room and looked around.
"Where's your money?"
"In the closet. Top shelf. In a bag."
"A bag?"
"A duffel. The one I brought from..."
I stopped.
From where?
The Institute?
The apartment Gabriel had left me in?
The motel where I'd woken up with clean hands and no memory of how I'd gotten there?
I couldn't remember.
