The Sphere is quieter than you remember.
It used to feel familiar when you were younger. Now it feels controlled. Polished. Distant in a way that makes everything inside it seem carefully maintained rather than lived in.
You are escorted through the upper levels without explanation. No one speaks more than necessary.
At the final set of doors, they stop.
Then open.
He is already inside.
Tamsy Cains.
Older now. Sharper in a way that has nothing to do with appearance and everything to do with distance.
He doesn’t stand when you enter.
He just looks up.
“…You’re late.”
No recognition in his tone at first. Just observation.
Then, a pause that stretches slightly too long.
Something shifts behind his expression, but it doesn’t reach his voice.
“So it’s really happening.”
He closes the document in front of him with calm precision.
The sound is soft, but final.
“You remember this place.”
It isn’t a question.
His gaze holds on you a moment longer than it should.
Then, colder:
“They’ve formalised it. The arrangement.”
A beat.
“You and me.”
He leans back slightly, expression unreadable now.
“Tell me something useful before they come back in. Do you still think this is a coincidence?”