Turn 2 of 10

Open the Rook folder and look at everything inside

The folder opens with the sound of paper that's been handled too many times, its creases soft as worn leather. Inside, the paperwork tells a story in fragments. Sera Okonkwo's license photo stares up at you—she's not smiling, but there's something in the set of her jaw that suggests she was about to, caught between expressions by the flash. Dark skin, locs pulled back with a silver clip shaped like a chess piece, the rook itself. Twenty-six, the form says, emergency contact left blank.

Below that: incident reports. Seven of them, spanning eighteen months. The handwriting on the officer summaries changes, but the pattern doesn't. Property damage in industrial zones. Structural failures that shouldn't have happened. Witnesses describing a figure in dark panels who "made things fall upward" before vanishing into the warehouse district. Each report ends the same way—"suspect unidentified, no civilian casualties, case pending."

You find her last field notes wedged behind a utility bill stamped FINAL NOTICE. The handwriting tightens as the pages progress, the letters crowding together like they're afraid of the margins.

"Understudy active again. Pattern match to previous encounters—adaptive, not predictive. Studies the mask, not the person. Doesn't know I'm leaving." A coffee stain blurs the next line, but you make out: "If someone takes the license, warn them: they inherit the observation."

Mars clears her throat, a dry sound like pages turning.

"There's a key in the pocket. Apartment in the Morley Building, unit 412. Her brother's been staying there, though the lease doesn't know that. And the cat—" she consults her phone, "—is apparently named Commissioner Gordon. The super's been feeding it, but he's running out of patience."

You pocket the key, feeling its teeth press against your palm through the thin lining of your jacket. The folder's last item is a newspaper clipping, no date, no context: a theater review for a one-person show called "The Understudy," praised for its "uncanny ability to become any role it witnesses."