The lights were still out. The room smelled of old velvet and candle wax. Natalie’s silhouette, still wrapped in the heavy coat, stood motionless in the center of the room. The gun still pointed at the man’s chest. But neither of them moved.

  The man stepped back slightly, unfazed. His voice was low now. Measured.

  “You were always like this,” he said, staring at her. “Even before the world could name you. Even when you were just a file. An experiment. No.0.0.9.”

  Natalie flinched. He smiled at the reaction. Like he'd cracked a secret. "You don’t remember it all yet, do you?” he asked. “They said it might come back to you slowly. Memories like shadows under a frozen lake."

  “Shut up,” she muttered, her voice thin, strained.

  "You were the mother," he said, softly. "Not just to him. To everything that came after. Do you want to know his number?"

  Natalie’s throat felt tight. Her fingers gripped the gun harder.

  “0.1.0,” the man whispered. “Your brother. In the lab. A clone of your son Casimir Bielska."

  Silence.

  Natalie stared at him like she didn't understand the words. But her body did. Her skin knew. Her bones knew. Somewhere deep, a piece of her had always known.

  “You were Sasha Bielska,” the man went on. “And you were the one Casimir loved most of all.”

  Natalie’s knees buckled slightly.

  “You’re lying.”

  “No. I’m just early.”

  A sound broke the air — distant, glassy. Like something falling inside her mind. Natalie took a step back, her eyes wide, unfocused. Her gun drooped slightly.

  The man kept speaking, voice warm with reverence, with awe.

  "The Bielska blood. Mother and Son. But what do bloodlines mean when they’re grown in a tank?”

  And then —The memories came.

  Nine, the quiet girl with the wide, innocent blue eyes, was still outside. She stood on the grass, barefoot, holding wildflowers in her small, trembling hands. Dr. Kazou Kuroda was nearby, watching.

  But she only saw Ten.

  She walked toward him, her arms thin, pale in the daylight. She placed the flowers gently in his hands. No words. Just breath.

  Ten stared at them like they were meaningless.

  But he kept them.

  She stood there waiting. Silent.

  “You killed.” Nine muttered, staring into Ten's eyes.

  "Do you feel it, Nine? The weight of the world shifting? It's happening, and we're right at the center.”

  More images, kaleidoscoping, warping—A soldier’s body. A white hallway. A metal door sealed from the outside. A scream she couldn’t control. Her younger self sobbing, holding a gun far too large for her hands. Blood.

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  "Once the demon is killed, the soldier can see the end. Run for him. Run away from here. Take the gun, and run.” Ten had said on one fateful night.

  Tears slipped down her cheeks. The trigger pulled. The recoil. Ten falling.

  Only he didn’t fall like someone who was dying. He fell like someone satisfied. Like someone who wanted it to happen.

  The End... The End... What was the end anyway?

  Natalie gasped sharply and nearly dropped the gun. Her knees hit the carpeted floor hard. The man before her didn’t move. He just watched. Savoring her unraveling.

  Her breath came ragged and panicked. Her eyes were wide, unseeing.

  She was remembering.

  She was remembering everything.

  "You were a child when they gave you the name Sasha, a child born in the 1901” the man said, kneeling slowly in front of her. “But even children can forget what’s not allowed.”

  Natalie tried to look at him, but her vision blurred.

  "She died, you know,” he said, calmly. “The original Sasha. The real one. No one was able to identify a body though. But one body, believed to have possibly been her was found her outside in a snow storm, hanging from a tree... A suicide. You were in so much grief from losing your son to the war."

  Natalie clutched the gun, her knuckles pale.

  “You were the mother,” he whispered, “and the sister. And the end."

  Natalie didn’t speak for a long time.

  She was frozen, standing still in that oversized coat she’d pulled from the rack, her gun hidden just inside. Her fingers still itched from gripping it too long.

  Across from her, the man smiled like he knew every page of her story — the parts she still couldn't remember.

  "You don’t have to look so surprised,” he said, slowly pacing back toward the cabinet, pouring himself a small glass of amber liquor. “You were always meant to remember eventually. That’s how it works.”

  Natalie didn’t move.

  “You were Experiment 0.0.9,” he continued, almost fondly. “Sasha’s last imprint. And Casimir... was her son. Or your son, if you believe in that kind of blood logic. Experiment 0.1.0. Born from her cells again. Raised beside you in the lab. Like siblings. Like mother and son. Parented by that asian man. Dr. Kazou Kuroda.” He looked back at her, swirling the glass gently. "And now look at you. Wearing mascara, lipstick, Pointing guns. Finding us. Isn’t that beautiful?"

  "Dr. Kuroda... The man who helped me escape the castle..." Natalie’s voice came out hoarse. “Why tell me this now?”

  The man tilted his head. “Because you’re the last witness, Natalie. All the others… well. Let’s just say The Burning believes in fire and forgetting.”

  The words hit her like blunt instruments. Something behind her eyes snapped loose. A flicker — grass, and wildflowers in her hand. A boy with yellow hair. Her finger on a trigger.

  She flinched.

  The man noticed.

  “Ah,” he said, softly. “You do remember.”

  Before she could respond—Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Three short, measured knocks at the door. The man didn’t look concerned. He stepped over and opened it slightly.

  Two men stood outside. Dressed in matching black suits. Clean-shaven. Polished shoes. They looked like hotel security — but too polished. Too symmetrical.

  One of them, a man with gray temples and a flat voice, said in perfect Polish, “Pan Krol, you are needed downstairs. Urgently. There’s been a complication.”

  The man, Krol raised a brow. “Can’t it wait?”

  The other one stepped forward. “No. It’s about the guests. Pan Nowak has requested for us to capture the asian. Spotted nearby."

  "Who? You mean Kuroda?" Natalie asked.

  There was a strange pause. Almost rehearsed.

  The man — Krol — turned back toward Natalie. “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe here. These men will keep you company.”

  Natalie stiffened. She didn’t like how the men were looking at her.

  Mr. Krol walked out the door.

  The two “guards” stepped inside. One of them closed the door. The other reached over and twisted the lock.

  Click.

  Natalie's hand drifted slowly toward the inside of her coat. But the two men didn’t speak. They didn’t approach. They simply took position — one at the door, the other by the wall — watching her like someone might watch a lit candle in a paper house.

  Waiting for it to burn.

  Natalie sat back down slowly in the velvet chair, resting her palms on her thighs. Her breathing was shallow now. Her thoughts were racing.

  What will they do to Kuroda? Will they hurt him? Is Casimir nearby?

  This was a trap. This was always a trap.

  She leaned her head slightly to the side, toward the man near the door.

  “So,” she said calmly. “How long are we going to pretend you’re security?”

  The man didn’t answer.

  She smiled faintly, brushing her hair from her face.

  "Right. You don't talk. Not until the real monster shows up."

  The man at the wall shifted slightly, glancing toward her coat pocket. He knew she had a weapon.

  But neither of them made a move yet.

  They were waiting for someone. And Natalie had a very good idea who.

  Her fingers curled around the lining of the coat.