I heard Rowan's voice in the media lab again three days later.
This time, I wasn't trying to find it.
The station's shared computer was acting up, and I was looking for an old sound file to copy onto my drive. A folder had been left open on the desktop. I recognized the date from the first recording I'd heard and felt my stomach tighten.
I hadn't expected the file to still be there. I'd deleted my copy, but the station's system had saved an automatic backup.
I should have closed the folder.
Instead, I clicked on the file.
Rowan's voice came through the lab speakers.
"I don't know what he wants from me. Sometimes I think he means it, and then he laughs. I don't want to be the person who asks."
The recording ended.
I sat still. My fingers rested on the mouse.
It wasn't a private co
