"Who?" A.V. asked.
June watched the rain move across Mashara's residence windows.
"XH."
The name changed the silence on the call.
"The boy from The Walls."
"The man who went to collect twenty-four passports while everybody else stayed somewhere safe."
"Your mother has mentioned him."
"I am sure she chose flattering words."
"She believes proximity to him has already cost you enough."
June looked toward the interfaith room. Kitty remained inside with Anna, NC, Jihye, Cherry, and Bunny. The others stood among packed suitcases while the departure clock moved toward six.
"This conversation is not about what my mother believes."
"You called because you want something from me. That makes your mother's opinion unusually relevant."
"Can you obtain a ministerial priority code for the Yandong consular office?"
A.V. did not answer immediately.
"What happened?"
June explained the reversed receipt number, the remote amendment, the containment order, and the flight deadline. She spoke quickly, afraid the details might rearrange themselves if she paused.
"I can call someone in the foreign ministry," A.V. said. "I cannot order Malaysian health authorities to open a sealed building."
"I am not asking you to."
"Then what are you asking?"
"Correct the authorization. Get an official vehicle close enough to deliver it. Make somebody examine his case before the flight leaves."
"My driver was cleared to take you to the airport. Not to a containment zone."
"Change the clearance."
He laughed once, not because anything was funny.
"You have your mother's confidence when you give orders."
"You told me you admired that."
"I do. Usually when it is directed at someone else."
June closed her eyes.
She hated the voice she used next.
Softer. Warmer. Deliberate.
The voice her mother said powerful men preferred because it allowed them to mistake a woman's request for their own decision.
"You said you wanted me to trust you," June said. "Show me what trusting you can accomplish."
A.V. breathed quietly into the phone.
"And when you return?"
"I will have dinner with you."
NS, standing several steps away, lifted his head.
"Alone?" A.V. asked.
"If all twenty-four of us reach Yandong."
"You negotiate like this boy matters greatly to you."
"Today, twenty-three people matter greatly to me. He is the one missing."
It was not an answer.
It was enough.
"Send me every document you have," A.V. said. "Give me fifteen minutes."
The call ended.
June's hand continued holding the phone against her ear.
"A dinner," NS said.
She lowered it.
"Not a marriage."
"He did not sound interested in dinner."
"I know what he is interested in."
"Does XH?"
"XH is trapped in another country's office because he refused to leave our passports. He does not need another reason to fight right now."
"Later, then."
June looked away.
"Later keeps getting shorter."
A.V.'s fifteen minutes became twenty-seven.
During that time, Aina scanned the master passenger list, the consular receipts, Mashara's exchange certification, and the emergency flight notice. She sent the documents through the National Recovery Office's secure portal rather than June's personal email.
"Connections can move a request to the top," Aina said. "They do not make an unofficial document official. Every correction still needs a traceable signature."
"Good," June replied. "Then make it traceable."
At five forty-nine, Aina's laptop displayed a new authorization.
The foreign ministry had corrected the reversed digits after matching the passport number, biometric record, original surrender log, and scanned receipt. The document carried a digital verification code and a named official responsible for the amendment.
Thirty seconds later, the consular office confirmed receipt.
The passports could now be released as one batch.
The building could not release XH.
"One locked door at a time," June said.
Aina turned toward her.
"What does that mean?"
A dark sedan had stopped beneath the residence canopy. A temporary government transport card rested against its windshield. The driver wore a mask and disposable gloves.
June picked up her bag.
"It means I am going to the public-health cordon."
"No."
"The vehicle is authorized."
"The vehicle may be. You are still my student."
"And XH is still yours."
"Which is why I will not send another student into an exposure zone."
"I am not entering the building. A.V. arranged a foreign-ministry liaison to meet me outside the cordon. I will deliver our medical declarations and make sure the exposure assessment reaches someone who can act on it."
"A government liaison can receive those documents without you."
"The transport clearance was issued for me because A.V.'s original emergency request used my name. If you change the passenger now, we lose the window."
Aina looked at the clock.
The bus driver started the engine outside.
"This is exactly how unequal access reproduces itself," Aina said. "One student knows a powerful man, so one request becomes visible while hundreds wait."
"I know."
"And you are still going to use it."
"Yes."
June did not defend herself with a cleaner answer.
"I hate that this road exists only because he wants something from me," she said. "But it exists. XH is at the other end of it."
Aina held her gaze.
Then she took a sealed folder from the printer.
"You remain outside the marked containment boundary. You follow every instruction from health personnel. You keep your mask on. You do not enter that building, even if you see him."
"Understood."
"Repeat the airport deadline."
June looked at the numbers written across her palm.
"Eight thirty."
"And the flight?"
"Eleven forty."
"Call me every fifteen minutes."
Aina placed the sealed documents inside June's bag.
"Bring back my student," she said.
Kitty emerged from the interfaith room as June reached the lobby doors.
She saw the government-marked sedan, the sealed folder, and the mask June was fitting over her face.
"You're going to him."
"Only to the cordon."
"How?"
"The man who offered me an emergency document arranged the car."
Kitty glanced at NS.
He gave one small nod.
"The family friend," Kitty said.
"Yes."
"The one you keep hiding from XH."
June's fingers stopped against the mask strap.
"This isn't the time."
"There is never a time with you. There is only before you hide something and after it hurts somebody."
The accusation landed because June could not deny it.
"You are right," she said.
Kitty had prepared herself for an argument. The agreement left her without armor.
"Then why should I trust you to bring him back?"
"You shouldn't. Trust what I am doing, not everything I have failed to tell you."
"And what are you doing?"
"Going toward him."
Rain struck the canopy hard enough to drown the idling engine.
Kitty remembered the prayer she had just made. Bring him back to June, even if that is where he wants to go.
Promises were easier inside quiet rooms.
Living them required opening the door.
Kitty took the black umbrella from the stand. It was the same one NS had held over her after Water Boom.
She offered it to June.
"Bring it back," Kitty said.
June accepted the handle.
Both of them knew she was not talking about the umbrella.
"I will try."
"No impossible promises."
"Then I will be careful enough to bring him home too."
The words belonged to Kitty first.
June gave them back with tears in her eyes.
NS opened the car door for her.
"Your passport is inside that building," he said. "Do not let XH make you forget that your life is part of the twenty-four."
June tightened her hand around the umbrella.
"I haven't forgotten."
For once, all three of them pretended the sentence had only one meaning.
The bus left Mashara at six with twenty-two students, Aina, and every suitcase except June's and mine.
June's sedan followed another road toward the city.
At the first checkpoint, a health officer scanned the vehicle permit and measured her temperature through the open window.
Thirty-six point seven.
No cough. No breathing difficulty. No known contact with a confirmed case.
The officer instructed her to remain inside the vehicle until she reached the outer cordon and warned that the permit authorized travel, not entry.
"I understand," June said.
The city beyond the checkpoint looked divided between ordinary evening and approaching disaster. Restaurants pulled chairs inside. Pharmacy lines reached onto wet sidewalks. Masked commuters crowded train entrances while departure boards filled with delays.
June checked XH's location.
Still unavailable.
She opened her notes.
Consular office. International-services building. XH inside. Twenty-four passports. Airport by 8:30.
She read the lines at every traffic light.
The driver watched her in the mirror.
"First time in Kuala Lumpur?"
"Yes."
"Bad day to remember it."
June looked at the towers disappearing inside storm clouds.
"I am trying to remember everything."
Her mother called.
June considered rejecting it, then answered.
"Where are you?" her mother demanded.
"Going to the consular office."
"A.V. arranged that car to protect you."
"It is protecting me. My passport is there."
"Do not play with words. The Wall boy made his choice."
"His name is XH."
"He has already dragged you through one national tragedy. You will not let him attach you to another."
June watched rain bend beneath the streetlights.
"He went back for my name when he could have saved himself."
"A passport is not your name."
"After MALT, you should know better than that."
Her mother became silent.
"Come home," she said finally. "A.V. can give you a stable life. Specialists. Safety. A future that does not require surviving a boy over and over."
June pressed her forehead against the cold window.
"What if he is part of the future I am trying to remember?"
She ended the call before her mother could answer.
Inside the consular office, the corrected authorization arrived at six twenty-one.
The senior officer scanned its verification code, compared the signature to the foreign ministry directory, and reopened the transfer drawer.
"The amendment is valid."
One by one, the remaining passports crossed the glass.
I placed each inside the orange pouch.
The last one was mine.
When the zipper closed, the weight surprised me. Twenty-four thin booklets should not have felt heavier than a person.
"Who obtained the priority code?" I asked.
The officer checked the authorization record.
"The request was escalated by a private government adviser through your National Recovery Office. The accompanying passenger is listed as June."
"Accompanying passenger?"
"A liaison vehicle is approaching the outer cordon."
I moved toward the lobby window.
"Remain behind the red line," she warned.
I stopped.
Beyond the rain-covered glass, police barriers surrounded the side entrance. A dark sedan waited beneath flashing amber lights. A health officer opened its rear door.
June stepped out wearing a mask and carrying Kitty's black umbrella.
For one second, she faced the wrong building.
The driver pointed.
June turned.
She saw me behind the glass.
The entire storm seemed to become silent.
She walked as far as the painted boundary allowed. A health officer raised one arm to stop her.
"You cannot cross."
"I am not asking to cross. I brought the cohort's medical declarations and the liaison authorization. Tell me what else you need to assess him."
"The contact review is still active. You should proceed to the airport."
"Not without him."
"Miss, standing in the rain will not change the protocol."
June opened the umbrella but held it behind her, letting the rain strike her face.
"Then explain the protocol," she said. "Every step. Every missing document. Every person who must sign. I will stand here until we complete what can be completed legally."
The officer looked toward the sedan, then toward the sealed folder in her hands.
I could not hear the rest through the glass.
June looked at me again.
She raised one hand.
I lifted mine from behind the red line.
Glass, rain, and several meters remained between our palms.
Close enough to see.
Too far to touch.
Like two golden figures who had never learned how to stop reaching.