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Layla didn't go home.
She walked three blocks south, turned into an alley she knew had no cameras, and kept moving. Her hands were shaking. She shoved them in her coat pockets. The night air smelled like rain and old garbage, and she focused on that instead of the look on Evan's face when he'd said Jenna's name. Like he'd been relieved.
She wasn't going to cry about it. Not again.
Her apartment was a studio above a tailor shop in the east quarter. She'd paid six months up front. If she packed light, she could be on a southbound transport by morning. Cole Black could file whatever report he wanted. She'd been invisible her whole life. One more disappearing act wouldn't make a difference.
Except she couldn't shake the way he'd looked at her.
Like she was a problem he needed to solve.
She turned the corner onto her street and stopped.
Cole was leaning against the lamppost outside her building.
He wasn't doing anything. Just standing there with his hands in his pockets, head tilted like he'd been waiting a while. The streetlight cast half his face in shadow. He didn't look surprised to see her.
"You're predictable," he said.
Layla's stomach dropped. "How did you—"
"HQ has your address. I told you not to run." He pushed off the post and stepped toward her. Not fast. He didn't need to be. "You planning to pack a bag?"
She didn't answer.
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. "That's what I thought."
"I'm not under arrest," Layla said. Her voice came out steadier than she expected. "You said investigation. That's not the same thing."
"No. It's not." Cole stopped two steps away. Close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "But if you run, it becomes the same thing. And I don't feel like chasing you across state lines."
"Then let me go."
"Can't do that."
"Why not?" She hated how her voice cracked. "I didn't do anything. I don't even know what case you're talking about."
Cole studied her for a long moment. His expression didn't change, but something shifted in his posture. Like he was recalibrating.
"Eighteen years ago," he said slowly, "there was an explosion at a research facility on the north border. Private lab. Unauthorized programs. They were running experiments on pregnant Sensors. Trying to map pairing markers before birth."
Layla's chest tightened. "I don't—"
"The fire killed most of the staff. Some of the records survived. Infant subjects were logged by code, not name. But one of the files had a partial birth certificate attached." He paused. "Your mother's signature was on it."
The world tilted.
Layla grabbed the lamppost to steady herself. Her mother. The woman who'd looked at her like a stranger every day of her life. Who'd told her she was broken. Defective. Unmarked.
"That's not possible," she whispered.
"It's a scanned image. The signature matches the one on your enrollment papers from primary school." Cole's voice was flat, clinical. Like he was reading a report. "The birth date matches yours. The infant code was flagged as missing after the fire."
"Missing."
"Presumed dead. But the body was never recovered." He tilted his head. "You're not dead, Layla."
She couldn't breathe.
Her mother had been part of an illegal experiment. Had signed papers. Had given her up to people who'd tried to do something to her before she was even born.
And then the lab had burned.
"I don't remember any of it," Layla said. Her voice sounded far away. "I don't—"
"You wouldn't. You were an infant." Cole's gaze didn't waver. "But HQ wants to know what they did to you. And why you're still unmarked."
"I told you. I'm defective."
"No." His tone sharpened. "Defective means broken. You're not broken. You're something else."
Layla looked up at him. His eyes were dark, unreadable. She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. She wanted to grab him by the collar and demand answers he didn't have.
Instead, she said, "What do you want from me?"
"I want you to come to HQ tomorrow. Voluntary interview. We'll run a scan, check your bloodwork, compare it to the surviving lab records." He said it like it was simple. Like it wasn't her entire life being dissected. "If you cooperate, this stays quiet. If you run, it goes public. And trust me, you don't want that."
"Why not?"
"Because the people who funded that lab are still around. And they don't like loose ends."
The threat hung in the air between them.
Layla's hands were numb. She didn't know if it was the cold or the fear or the anger that was starting to burn through the shock. Her mother had sold her. Some faceless corporation had tried to turn her into something. And now Cole Black was standing in front of her, telling her she didn't have a choice.
She hated him.
She hated all of them.
"Fine," she said. "Tomorrow. But I'm not giving blood until I see those records."
Cole's expression didn't change, but she thought she saw approval flicker across his face. "Fair."
He stepped back, giving her space. She didn't move.
"Go inside," he said. "Lock your door. Don't open it for anyone except me."
"You planning to stand out here all night?"
"No. But I'll know if you leave." He glanced at her building, then back at her. "I can feel the city grid. Every Sensor leaves a trace when they move through it. You don't. That's why I'm here."
Layla stared at him. "You can't sense me."
"No." His voice dropped, and for the first time, she heard something other than cold efficiency in it. Confusion. Maybe frustration. "I can't. And that's a problem."
She didn't know what to say to that.
Cole turned to leave, then paused. "One more thing."
"What?"
He looked back at her, and the streetlight caught his face full-on. He looked tired. "The lab's code name for the program was Null. They were trying to create Sensors who couldn't be tracked. Ghosts in the system." He paused. "If that's what you are, HQ isn't the only one looking for you."
Her blood went cold.
"Who else?"
Cole didn't answer. He just walked away, his footsteps echoing off the brick walls.
Layla stood there until she couldn't see him anymore. Then she went inside, climbed the stairs to her apartment, and locked the door.
She didn't turn on the lights.
She sat on the floor with her back against the wall and stared at the dark window. Her mother's face kept flashing through her mind. The way she'd looked at Layla when she was little. Not like a daughter. Like a mistake.
Layla pulled her knees to her chest and pressed her forehead against them.
Null.
She wasn't broken. She was erased.
And someone out there wanted to finish the job.