Mara took a step back instead of sitting. "I'm not—"
A hand settled on her shoulder.
Fast. Silent. Perfectly placed.
Mara never saw the movement. One moment Mazlin was across the desk, the next she was behind her. Controlled pressure followed—efficient, undeniable. Mara's legs buckled. The android guided her down into the chair with mechanical precision. Not violent. Not gentle. Just exact.
Mara sucked in a sharp breath and tried to twist free, but her body was still too weak, still held together by someone else's patchwork.
Mazlin's hand lingered a fraction longer than necessary.
Then withdrew.
She stepped into Mara's line of sight and smiled. The expression was flawless. And completely empty.
"Please drink," she said. Polite. Pleasant. Hollow.
Mara stared at her. "What the—"
"Thank you, Mazlin," the man said quietly.
Mara's eyes flicked between them. "She's not human, is she?"
"Correct. She is better." He gestured lightly. "Meet Mazlin, my all-purpose maid."
"Pleased to meet you," Mazlin said, voice soft and perfectly modulated.
Mara swallowed. "I've never seen anything like this… Is she custom built?"
"They produced a few prototypes many years ago but never released them—too many technical issues. I found her decommissioned in the incinerator yard while scavenging parts. Brought her back online myself. Stripped out the spyware and the standard lullaby modules."
"And you never got caught tampering with restricted machines without informing the RAT Bureau?"
"Nope."
Mara's voice dropped, edged with growing disbelief. "Just who the hell are you?"
Mazlin dipped her head in a small, precise nod, as if the conversation had completed its required exchange, then stepped back into perfect stillness. Waiting. Always waiting.
Mara looked down at the cup in front of her.
Real porcelain. Thin, slightly uneven at the rim. Delicate hairline imperfections showed when the light caught it just right. It looked impossibly old. Fragile in a way nothing in Shadow Lane had any right to be.
She didn't touch it.
"I've never…" She stopped, irritated that the words had escaped at all.
"Never what?" the man asked.
She gestured at the cup. "This."
He raised an eyebrow. "Tea."
"I know what tea is," she snapped. "Not like this. Not in cups like this."
A beat passed.
"Most people haven't," he said.
Mara's fingers hovered near the handle, still refusing to commit.
"How do you even have these things?" She finally looked up at him properly. "Nothing in this place lasts long enough to look like that."
He took a slow sip. No flourish. Just drank.
"I have contacts."
Mara narrowed her eyes. "Yeah. Sure."
He offered no reaction. That made it worse.
Her gaze dropped back to the cup, the tray, the dusty desk. Everything felt too deliberate. Too preserved for the decay of Shadow Lane.
"How old are you?" she asked. Flat. Direct.
He didn't answer right away.
Mara leaned forward slightly, ignoring the protest in her ribs. "No—actually," she said, quieter now, more intent, "how long have you been holding onto things like this?"
Her fingertip tapped the edge of the cup. A soft, clear sound. Real.
"Because this—" she made a small gesture, "—this isn't Directorate-made."
"No," he said. "It isn't."
Mara's eyes sharpened. "Then it's pre-standardization."
"Yes."
The word hung between them like smoke that refused to clear.
Pre-Directorate.
Mara felt something shift uneasily in her chest. Not quite fear. Closer to dissonance.
"You don't just 'have contacts' for this," she said. "You don't just stumble across things like this."
"No," he agreed. "You don't."
Silence stretched.
Mara finally wrapped her fingers around the cup—careful, almost reverent. It was warm. Steady. Real.
She didn't drink. Just held it.
"You're either lying," she said quietly, eyes still fixed on the tea, "or you've been around long enough to watch this city become what it is."
The man watched her in silence.
Didn't confirm.
Didn't deny.
Mazlin remained perfectly motionless in the background, like a detail the room itself had chosen to keep.
Steam curled lazily upward between them, unbothered by any of it.
And for the first time since she'd clawed her way back to consciousness, Mara hesitated.
From the slow, uncomfortable realization that this man—and everything around him—didn't fit into the city she thought she understood.