The factory held a deliberate quiet. Dust hung in thin bands of moonlight from the office windows.
Corbin stood at the scarred wooden desk in the supervisor's office, folders spread across it. Vance leaned opposite, scanning documents. Between them lay a single faded photograph: a younger Corbin in front of a brick wall. On the back, in dark ink, three words:
HE IS ALIVE.
Vance picked it up by the edges. "How old is this?"
"At least ten years. Someone was keeping it all this time."
"Why?"
Corbin slid the photograph into the center fold of an open file. "That's what we're going to find out."
Vance held up a page of Mercer's handwriting. "He was close."
"He was close enough to get killed for it," Corbin said.
Vance flipped through redacted ledger pages.
"Blackbriar, Mercury, Redwood, the Halcyon Foundation..." Vance read the names aloud. "All connected?"
"Through Level Four, probably. The Director operates from there, and the Architect sits above him."
Vance frowned. "That's what Vale claimed. Do you actually believe him?"
"I believe he was afraid — not of the Architect, exactly. Of saying the name."
Vance gave a thin smile. "That's your evidence?"
"Fear like that is difficult to fake."
"You trust fear more than facts?"
"Facts get rehearsed," Corbin said.
Vance crossed his arms. "So what now?"
"We find the connection — not to the Architect. To the people who were watching me." Corbin gathered the folders into a neat stack. "Someone kept detailed records on people who disappeared."
"Dozens of files," Vance said. "People like you."
"People who vanished."
"And you came back."
"I didn't stay gone." Corbin looked at the piles. "If the others are alive, they're hiding, like I was. And someone knows exactly where to find them."
Corbin began sorting the documents into piles: Mercer's journals, Blackbriar's routing numbers, the original contract, Level One protocols, Level Four dossiers, the Architect file. Then he stopped, fingers hovering over a wire transaction log.
Vance caught the pause. "What is it?"
"This ledger." Corbin held the sheet to the light. "The original contract. The broker received payment before the hit."
"So?"
"Blackbriar pays after confirmation. That's standard. This money moved long before any hit took place."
Vance leaned closer. "Someone wanted the contract to exist more than they wanted you dead."
"Yes. It was a flare." Corbin set the paper down in front of him. "They wanted to see who looked up."
"They wanted proof," Vance said softly. "Proof you were still alive."
"Someone paid to find out if a ghost was real."
"Ghosts don't usually answer," Corbin said.
"You did."
"And now they have it. The bait isn't new — they've had proof since the contract. They had a photograph. Tonight they get an address."
Vance looked up. "What's the plan?"
Corbin closed the final folder. "We give them what they want: the photograph, the coordinates, and a reason to hurry."
"Yourself?"
"Not yet. And if what they want is me in a room, I pick the room."
Corbin walked to the window and looked down at the dark factory floor.
"They've spent over a decade looking for me."
Vance watched his back. "So you're done hiding."
"I'm done being looked for," Corbin said. He turned his head slightly. "So we'll make it easy for them."