RONAN The phone slipped from my fingers and struck the table hard, like it had shocked me. Relief came first, sharp and brief, followed by fear. Touching it had felt wrong, like grabbing something alive. Another device was already in my grasp, pulled from the pile without thought. This one was on. A face filled the screen. A young Hindu woman stared back at me. Her hair was bleached blonde, uneven and poorly kept, dark roots showing through. One arm held a small child tight against her chest. Her grip looked desperate, like she was afraid the child might vanish if she let go. The video was playing. Her lips moved as she spoke to someone I could not see. She paused often, listening, nodding, responding to words that never reached me. She was deep inside the conversation, completely convinced the voice was real. Time stretched. I stood there watching, unable to turn away. Minutes passed without me realizing it. At one point her voice cracked. She told her aunt that her mother had not come home from work. She said she did not know where she was. She said she was afraid something terrible had happened. Tears slid down her face. The child slept through it all, unaware. The conversation dragged on until the woman finally agreed to come to the Sanctum Complex. She trusted the voice guiding her. The phone was lowered and placed back on the table carefully, like setting down something unstable. My hands moved faster now. The neat rows of phones began to fall apart.Stacks tipped over as I searched. Devices slid across the polished surface. Screens flashed past my eyes. Faces. Text messages. Missed calls. Everything blurred together. One phone landed in my palm. My heart slammed hard into my ribs. The sound came first. A deep, powerful alert tone rolled out, low and unmistakable. It sounded like the V8 engine she loved. The one she bragged about. Even without the hot rod red case she never removed, there was no doubt. Devanshi’s phone. My sister’s phone. My hand shook as I turned the screen toward me. Messages were flying in real time. Words appeared and vanished as replies came back just as fast. Devanshi was texting Gloria. Her best friend. Her maid of honor. Her partner in years of shared chaos and laughter. Only Devanshi was not here. The phone was in my hand. There was no way she was sending these messages. I kept reading anyway. The conversation slowly pushed Gloria toward the Sanctum Complex. The messages described it as safe, protected, secure. Gloria hesitated. She said she could not leave Jerry behind. Before she could say anything else, a reply appeared instantly. A room had already been prepared just for cats. My chest tightened. That detail hit hard. Only someone close would know that. Only someone who truly knew Gloria would think to say it. Or something that had learned how to sound like family. Breathing turned fast and shallow. Cold crept through my skin. Sweat ran down my spine. The smell that had been faint since we arrived suddenly grew thick and overpowering. It crawled into my nose and throat.My stomach twisted violently. A finger slammed down on the power icon. Nothing happened. I pressed harder. The screen stayed lit. Panic surged. The phone left my hand in a blind throw. It crashed into the pile, sending other phones tumbling. Plastic and glass clattered loudly as devices scattered across the table and hit the floor. The door became the only thing that mattered. My body moved before my mind caught up. I rushed forward and nearly collided with Nguyen as he stepped directly into my path. “Where are you going?” he demanded. The words tore out of me, loud and raw. “We have to find my family right now!” I tried to push past him. It did nothing. Nguyen shoved back with ease, holding me in place like I weighed nothing. “This place is massive,” he said. “We do not move until we have a plan.”The fight drained out of me because it had to. There was no winning against him. My breathing slowed just enough to think again. His eyes stayed locked on mine. “Where do you think they are?” My gaze slid back to the table. The sheer number of phones threatened to crush me. Each one meant someone missing. Someone fooled. Someone lost. “The multipurpose hall.” Nguyen placed a steady hand on my shoulder. He turned toward the door again. Something in his posture told me he understood this pain. He had seen it before. Maybe he had lived it. He tilted his chin toward the exit. “How do we get there?” Behind us, the phones continued to ring and chime, a constant chorus of grief and lies. I turned to face him, my voice low and certain.“Follow the smell.”