The man watched her for a while. Just… waiting.
Mara still hadn't taken a sip. Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup, not enough to risk cracking the fragile porcelain, just enough to remind herself it was real. Still a decision she hadn't made.
"You're thinking too loudly," he said.
Mara's eyes flicked up. "I'm not thinking out loud."
"No," he agreed. "But you're arguing with yourself like you expect the room to take a side."
"That's because the room is already trying to."
A faint shift of amusement crossed his face. "Fair."
He set his cup down with quiet precision. "Since you don't trust me yet and won't drink the tea, Let's make this easier."
Mara didn't like that. Not at all. "Nothing about this is easy."
"It can be structured," he corrected.
That was worse.
Her eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"
"It means we turn this into a game."
Mara let out a short, humorless breath. "You're not serious."
"I am."
"I just watched people get erased in a corridor and you want to play a game."
"Yes."
The answer came without hesitation. That irritated her more than any justification could have.
"Why?"
"Because you want answers," he said, "and you don't trust anything that doesn't cost you something."
Silence.
He wasn't wrong.
Mara leaned back slightly, the movement pulling at her bruised ribs. "…go on."
His fingers tapped once against the side of his cup. "Simple rules. You ask me a question. I answer. If the answer satisfies you—" his eyes dropped briefly to the cup in her hand, "—you take a sip."
Mara didn't react immediately. "And if it doesn't?"
"Then you don't."
"That's it?"
"No." Of course not. "If I don't know the answer," he continued, "then I ask you a question."
Mara's expression hardened. "And I have to answer."
"Yes."
"No."
He didn't argue. "Then don't play."
That was clean. Too clean.
Her grip on the cup tightened again. "What kind of questions?"
"The kind you don't want to answer," he said.
Mazlin spoke for the first time in a while. "Truth verification available."
Mara glanced at her. "Meaning?"
"I will indicate deviation," Mazlin said quietly. "For both parties."
Mara frowned. "You're a lie detector."
"I am a consistency analyzer."
"That's the same thing."
"It is not."
Mara looked back at the man. "And you're okay with that."
"I suggested it."
"Why?"
"Because if I'm going to ask you something," he said, "you'll assume I'm manipulating you."
"I already assume that."
"Yes," he said. "This way you'll know when I am."
That was… annoyingly reasonable.
Mara exhaled slowly. "You have to be truthful."
"I will be."
Mazlin added, "Deviation will be indicated."
Mara's eyes flicked between them—the man, calm and unreadable; Mazlin, perfectly still; the dusty room waiting like it was in on the game.
Everything here was structured. Even this.
Her thumb shifted against the cup's delicate handle. Warm. Steady. Still untouched.
"And if I just leave?" she asked.
"You can."
No resistance. No pressure. That somehow made staying feel like a real choice—which made it worse.
Mara looked down at the tea, then back at him.
"…fine," she said. The word came out slower than she expected. "But I decide what counts as a 'satisfactory' answer."
"Of course."
"And I don't drink unless I'm convinced."
"That's the point."
A pause.
"Your question," he said.
Mara didn't speak immediately. Her mind was already moving, selecting, testing. If this was going to be a game, she would make sure it hurt.
Her eyes lifted. Sharp. Focused. The game began.