The rain kept falling on the broken roofs of Lucretia. On a forgotten rooftop, Lily May sharpened her blades with the same care others used to weave memories.

"Laura…" She whispered, barely audible, as a pang shot through her head.

She put her hand to her temple. It wasn't a migraine. It was that name again. Not a target's, not a victim's.

Just then, a figure appeared at the edge of the roof.

"Do you also hear voices that you don't know are yours?" she asked without looking at him, her tone more human than usual.