Tvaikonu Str. 5, Lv1007, Riga, Latvia Here

Marta tried to scream. No sound left her mouth. The waltz grew louder, faster, warping into a distorted military march. The nine cups rattled. The tea turned to rust.

That night, she dreamed of a train. Wooden carriages. Endless tracks. And at the very back, a woman with her face waving goodbye. tvaikonu str. 5, lv1007, riga, latvia

Inside, the staircase spiraled upward, wrong. The steps were too shallow, the banister too cold, even for Riga in November. On the first landing, a single bare bulb flickered, casting shadows that didn't match the angles of the room. The walls were covered in layered wallpaper—1950s florals peeling over 1930s geometries, over something older: newspaper print in a language she almost recognized but couldn't read. Marta tried to scream

She checked the address in her hand. The paper was still there. But now, beneath the list of nine names, a tenth had been added. Neatly typed. The nine cups rattled