"Where am I?" I asked, and my palm knocked a porcelain cup off the low table.
It shattered against the floor. Sound ricocheted in the small room and then cut off when I remembered I had no idea where I was.
I sat up on the futon. The blanket slid down my shoulders. My feet found the tatami and trembled.
I stood and walked to the bathroom door.
The mirror showed my face—pale, messy hair, a bruise at my temple I did not remember getting. I touched my cheek. It was me. The reflection blinked in time with me.
"Okay," I told the mirror. "Molly Bonnet. Where the hell—"
The bathroom hum was soft. A strip of light along the mirror edge flicked on and words appeared in the corner of the glass.
WELCOME, CARETAKER. PLEASE VERIFY IDENTITY.
My voice sounded small. "Verify identity?"
A soft chime answered. TEXT PROMPT: Type name and confirmation phrase.
I wiped at a tear that had nothing to do with sadness and typed, I AM MOLLY BONNET.
The mirror paused. A recorded voice played, crisp and warm, older than the fixtures: "Identification accepted. Access level: Caretaker. Last registered occupant: Aurelie Yamashita. If you are not the named caretaker, contact Aurelie's Net for instructions."
I closed my mouth. "Aurelie's Net?"
TEXT: Aurelie's Net is an automated guidance channel. Please check frontdesk terminal for orientation files.
I opened the wardrobe. Clothes folded like someone expected me to wear them: a pair of
