The phone vibrated against the metal table. It was a single buzz, sharp and intrusive. Dante was cleaning his weapon. He did not stop until he finished wiping the barrel and set the cloth down. Only then did he look at the screen.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
He picked it up and did not hesitate to open the message. There was no image, no audio, and no attachment. Just text—white letters on a black background: "You are not fighting me. You are fighting the question you have never answered — who made you?"
Dante read it once. He did not move. He read it twice. The letters did not change; they did not shift. They remained exactly what they were. He read it a third time.
(Kairo): "It is not a threat. It is a diagnosis."
(Mūn): "He knows you do not know the answer."
(Dante): "Silence."
