The place was exactly what Voss had described.
Two blocks south of Association HQ, wedged between a dry cleaner and a phone repair shop, the kind of establishment that had probably been there for thirty years and would probably be there for thirty more because it occupied a specific functional niche — cheap, open late, nobody asked questions. Plastic chairs. Formica tables. A coffee machine that produced something technically classifiable as coffee.
Seo arrived seven minutes before Voss. He took the table in the back corner, facing the door, and ordered one cup of the coffee and did not drink it.
He opened his file instead.
Forty-four entries. Six months of work. He knew every page well enough to read it in the dark, but he looked through it anyway — not reviewing, more the way you handled something familiar before you handed it to someone else for the first time. Making sure it was what you thought it was.
It was.
Voss came in at 12:47 PM. He spotted Seo immediately, which confirmed what the clearance reports had suggested about his spatial awareness. He ordered coffee at the counter without being asked — the woman behind the counter had already started pouring — and brought it to the table and sat down.
He looked at the file.
"How thick is it?" he said.
"Two hundred and thirty pages," Seo said. "The first forty-four entries take up the first eighty."
Voss picked up his coffee. Drank some of it. Set it down. "Show me."
Seo turned to page one and slid the file across the table.
The first entry was fourteen months ago. Gate closure, District 14, Class-C. Team arrived to find boss deceased, Gate closed. Standard anomalous finding. At the bottom of the entry, Seo had added a column he'd created himself — Departure Log — with a single timestamp pulled from Association internal records. The authorized team had been dispatched at 3:12 AM. They'd arrived at 3:29.
Beside it, in a different column — Proximate Office Departure — another timestamp. 10:47 PM. The previous evening.
"What's this?" Voss said. He was pointing at the second column.
"Association staff movement logs," Seo said. "The building logs everyone in and out. It's building security data, not Association data — technically public record if you know where to look."
Voss looked at the timestamp. Then at the Gate closure time. Then back.
"Fourteen hours," he said.
"Between the departure and the closure. Yes." Seo turned to the next entry. Same format. Different district, different Gate class, different dates. Same two columns. "It varies. Sometimes six hours. Sometimes twenty. But the departure always precedes the closure. Every time."
Voss went through the next four entries without speaking. His expression didn't change — that controlled, observational calm that Seo had catalogued as characteristic from the clearance reports. But his hand, Seo noticed, had stopped moving on the table. Completely still, in the way hands went still when a person was processing something they'd already suspected and were now having confirmed.
"Forty-four entries," Voss said.
"Forty-four confirmed. There may be more I haven't found yet."
Voss turned another page. Stopped.
This entry was different. The Gate closure information was standard — District 6, Class-B, eleven months ago. But below the anomalous findings section, Seo had added something he hadn't included in the other entries. A note, three lines long.
Civilian saved during approach. Female. Approx. 17. Shadow intervention confirmed before team arrival. Civilian was unconscious when found. No injuries consistent with monster contact.
Voss read it twice.
"Whose note is this?" he said.
"Mine," Seo said. "I was there that night." He was quiet for a moment. "That was my sister."
The coffee machine behind the counter made a sound. Someone came in through the front door, bringing cold air and the smell of the street. Seo watched Voss read the note a third time.
"She's fine," Seo said. "She doesn't remember much. She said it was dark, and then something moved between her and the Gate, and then it wasn't dark anymore." He paused. "She described a hand. Just a hand. In the light from the Gate for half a second."
Voss looked up.
"What did it look like?" he said. His voice was level. Careful.
Seo reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small folded piece of paper. He set it on the table between them, smoothed it flat.
It was a number. Written in pen. Slightly smudged at the edge.
44.
"She was holding this when they found her," Seo said. "She doesn't know how it got there."
Voss looked at the paper. At the number. At Seo.
"I don't know what it means," Seo said. "I've been trying to figure that out for eleven months."
The front door opened again. Wind moved through the place, rattling something near the window. Outside, the street was doing what streets did at midday — moving, indifferent, continuous.
"The hand," Voss said. He hadn't looked away from the number. "What did it look like. Specifically."
Seo had asked his sister the same question eleven months ago. He'd written down her answer and kept it on page twelve of the file, because something about it had seemed important even when he didn't understand why.
"She said it looked like someone who'd been holding something very heavy for a long time," Seo said. "She said she couldn't explain it better than that."
Voss picked up his coffee cup. Put it down without drinking from it.
He didn't say anything for a while.
Outside, a tram went past. The sound of it came through the window and faded.
"Thank you," Voss said finally. He stood up. Reached into his pocket.
"I'll pay for the coffee," Seo said.
Voss nodded once. He picked up his jacket. Looked at the file, still open on the table between them.
"Can I—"
"Page twelve," Seo said. "My sister's statement. You can read it."
Voss looked at him.
"Next time," Seo said.
Voss left.
Seo sat alone at the table with the bad coffee and the open file and the folded piece of paper with 44 written on it. He picked up the paper. Looked at it. Put it back in his pocket.
He turned to page forty-seven.
Under the name VOSS, K., the question mark was still there.
He left it.