The interrogation continued through the night.
By dawn, Sera had three notebooks filled with names, dates, and locations that would take weeks—maybe months—to investigate fully. The entity had talked, grudgingly at first, then with growing precision as it accepted the reality of its containment. Cooperation was its only leverage. It clung to that fact with cold intelligence.
But Sera’s attention kept drifting to Vasquez.
The councillor sat with Luna in the far corner of the ruined main bedroom, wrapped in a blanket someone had draped around her shoulders. She spoke in fragments—short bursts of memory followed by long, stunned silences. Her face cycled through horror, guilt, rage, and disbelief. Sometimes she stared at her hands as if they belonged to a stranger. Sometimes she flinched a
