Marcus Sterling crouched in the cramped surveillance van, his headphones pressed tight to his ears, his notebook filled with scribbled details of Mira's conversations. For forty-eight hours, he and Rajesh had watched and listened as Mira systematically rebuilt Raquel and Liam's memories, and it was both fascinating and chilling. She asked them questions, waited for their confusion, then fed them false answers, weaving a new reality they accepted without question.
"Do you remember our high school?" Mira's voice came through the audio feed, calm and deliberate.
Liam's response was hesitant, "I… no, I can't picture it."
"The Whitethorn Academy, a private school in the woods, we have a big football field, you love playing there, Liam," Mira said, her tone gentle but firm.
"Did I?" Liam asked, his voice uncertain.
"Yes, you were on the varsity team, don't you remember the championship game, the one where you scored the winning touchdown?"
