"That sounds like no."
The employee looked uncomfortable. "I’m just registering people."
Mrs. Dela Cruz touched Mara’s arm. "Come on."
They reached the table.
The employee asked Mara’s name and age.
"Fourteen."
"Mark?"
Mara opened one hand.
The man’s expression changed immediately. "Gemini."
"Yes."
"Manifestation?"
Mara did not answer.
Mrs. Dela Cruz answered for her. "Voice copying."
Mara turned toward her.
"What? They need to know."
The employee stopped writing. "Can you control it?"
"Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"I don’t repeat everything anymore."
Mara stared at him.
One of the security officers approached. "Did the mimicry happen recently?"
"A few hours ago."
"Any involuntary repetition since then?"
Mara thought about it. "Yes."
"How recently?"
"Maybe twenty minutes."
The officer looked toward the bus.
Mara followed his eyes.
"No."
He looked back at her. "No what?"
"I’m not going there."
"It’s temporary."
"My mother is at Linden Central Hospital, and my brother is trying to come home."
"We don’t know if your brother can reach this district."
"Neither do I."
"That facility has communication equipment. They’re registering family locations there too."
Mara paused.
The officer continued, "We’re not taking you to detention. They have people who are trying to teach Awakened civilians enough control that they stop hurting themselves or other people."
"My ability copies voices."
"Which is exactly why they don’t want you in a crowded evacuation area if you can’t always choose which voice comes out."
Mara wanted to argue.
Unfortunately, that made sense.
Mrs. Dela Cruz crouched slightly beside her. "Go with them."
"What about Marek?"
"I’ll leave another note."
Mrs. Dela Cruz looked toward the officer. "Can I go with her?"
"Registered family or guardian?"
"No."
"Then not on this transport. You can report to the same evacuation site later."
Mara crossed her arms.
The officer waited.
Finally, she asked, "Can I contact the hospital from there?"
"If the network is working."
"And if it isn’t?"
"They have runners and emergency communication teams."
That was more than the apartment had.
Mara returned upstairs before the bus left.
She packed two bottles of water, several packaged biscuits, a flashlight, and the small first-aid kit Marek insisted they keep beneath the kitchen sink.
Then she tore a page from one of her school notebooks.
She wrote:
Marek,
The building is being evacuated. They are taking me to a temporary stabilization facility. Mom isn’t answering. I will try to contact the hospital from there.
Mara stopped.
She then added:
If you get home and I’m not here, ask where they sent people from our building.
That sounded better than telling Marek not to leave at all.
He would ignore that.
She thought for another moment before adding one final sentence.
You still owe me noodles.
Mara placed the note in the middle of the dining table. Before leaving, she looked around the apartment.
Nothing inside it looked particularly important.
Their plates were still beside the sink.
Marek’s jacket remained over the back of one chair even though their mother had told him several times to stop leaving it there.
A photograph of the four of them remained near the television. Her father stood behind Marek. However, Mara remembered nothing from that day.
She took one last glance at it, picked it up, placed it inside her bag, and then left with heavy steps.
Linden Central Hospital had stopped functioning like a normal hospital several hours earlier.
Marek’s mother, Amara Vale, had been working in the laundry department when Day 367 began.
The first problem had been the machines.
Every industrial washer stopped at the same time.
Then the lights changed.
After that, people started screaming.
Marks appeared across the workers’ bodies. One woman collapsed. Another employee pulled the handle from a dryer without realizing how hard she had pulled.
Within an hour, the laundry staff had been reassigned.
Clean sheets were needed upstairs.
So were towels, blankets and anything else the emergency department could use.
Amara did not complain.
There was too much work.
She carried supplies between floors until one of the nurses finally stopped her.
"You need to register downstairs."
"For what?"
"Your Mark."
She looked down at the markings that had appeared on her own body.
They had done nothing she could identify. "I haven’t done anything."
"Neither had half the people here until they suddenly did."
That was difficult to argue with.
The hospital had converted part of the outpatient area into an Awakening processing section.
People were everywhere.
Patients.
Staff.
Visitors.
Security officers.
Several tables had been placed along the corridor.
Every Awakened person was photographed, asked several questions, and given a temporary classification.
People whose abilities had already manifested were being separated according to whether they could control them.
Some remained inside the hospital. Others were transported elsewhere.
Amara watched two security officers escort a man toward the loading area.
His hands were restrained inside padded coverings.
He did not appear violent.
He looked frightened.
"Where are they taking him?" she asked.
The worker registering her did not look up. "Stabilization facility."
"He’s injured."
"He’ll be medically assessed there."
"This is a hospital."
"The facilities are filling up."
The worker finally looked at her. "Anyone whose manifestation is still dangerous is being moved somewhere that has space to monitor them."
"What if they don’t want to go?"
The worker’s expression made the answer obvious.
Amara looked toward the loading area again. Several buses and government vehicles were waiting outside.
Schools had been converted.
A sports complex was accepting hundreds of people.
Another facility had been established inside a convention hall.
Someone nearby said a military compound was taking the more dangerous manifestations. Nobody seemed to know how long anyone would remain there.
The worker returned to her form. "Have you manifested an ability?"
"Not that I know of."
"Any unusual sensation?"
"No."
"Loss of control?"
"No."
He marked something on the page. "Low immediate risk. You’re free to remain with hospital staff or join civilian evacuation once your department releases you."
"When can I leave?"
"That isn’t a decision I can make."
She left the table before he could say anything else.
Her phone still had no signal.
She tried Mara first.
Nothing.
Then Marek.
Nothing.
The family group chat opened.
Mara’s messages remained there.
Do not forget the noodles.
She read the last one and closed the screen.
Mara was supposed to be at home, and Marek had been at the university.
Those were the last places she knew.
One of the laundry workers approached her. "Still nothing?"
"No."
"I heard some messages were getting through near the west side."
"When?"
"Earlier."
Amara was already walking.
The woman followed. "It isn’t working now."
"I can check."
It was not working.
Several people stood near the west windows holding their phones toward the glass as though moving them closer to the outside might somehow restore the network.
Marek’s mother tried both numbers again.
Nothing.
Through the window, Linden City no longer looked like the place she had traveled through before work.
Several roads ended in unfamiliar terrain. A ridge had appeared beyond buildings that should have continued into another district.
The elevated transit line stopped near it.
Hospital staff had already begun taping corrected route maps to the walls.
Most had more crossed-out roads than usable ones.
An announcement eventually came through the corridor.
"Nonessential staff requesting family evacuation should report to the south entrance. Do not leave hospital grounds without an assigned route."
Amara turned immediately.
At the south entrance, hundreds of people were already waiting. A security officer stood near a city map covered in handwritten markings.
She approached him. "Residential District Four."
The officer studied the map. "Old eastern route is blocked."
"By what?"
"Forest."
She stared at him.
He looked tired enough that he did not react.
"Is there another route?" she asked.
"Southwest corridor was confirmed about an hour ago."
"Does it reach the district?"
"We think so."
"You think?"
"The city changed less than a day ago."
She took a breath.
"My daughter is there."
"How old?"
"Fourteen."
"Is she with someone?"
"My son was supposed to be home."
"Where was he?"
"The university."
The officer checked another sheet.
"University evacuees were moved to several different facilities."
Her expression changed. "Which facilities?"
"I don’t know where your son was assigned."
"Can you check?"
"Not without his registration number."
"I don’t have his registration number." Amara slightly lowered her head, sighing heavily.
"Then the central processing stations might have him listed."
"Where?"
"Several locations."
She stared at him.
That was not useful.
The officer seemed to know it.
"If he Awakened and was still uncontrolled, he may have been transferred to a stabilization center. If he was injured, he may have gone to a medical unit. If he was considered stable, he could have been released into an evacuation area."
Three possibilities.
None told her where her son was.