Chapter 16: The Girl Who Forgot Her Name

Rain followed Linh all the way to the shelter.

It wasn't the same one she stayed in years ago. This one was smaller, newer. But it smelled the same—disinfectant and lavender tea. Fear and memory.

Tram met her at the gate. No questions. Just a nod.

"She's in the back room. Doesn't talk much. But she's safe. For now."

Linh took off her coat. Her hands were still damp.

"She had this," Tram said, holding up the metal bird pin. "Same wing. Same number."

Linh nodded. "Y-01."

They walked past painted walls and quiet rooms. Linh tried not to notice how many beds were occupied.

Tram paused at the last door. "She doesn't trust adults. Doesn't answer to Vietnamese. Sometimes whispers in Mandarin, sometimes just… counts."

Linh didn't ask why she was allowed in. She just entered.

The girl sat by the window, knees pulled to her chest. Her head was half-shaved. Her eyes were large, but not innocent. Not anymore.

Linh sat across from her, slowly.

"I'm not here to fix you," she said. "Or tell you it's okay. I'm just… someone who once forgot her name too."

The girl didn't move. But her fingers twitched.

Linh reached into her bag and pulled out a folded scarf—the old cloth. The same faded pattern. She placed it between them.

"You said something when they showed you my photo," Linh said. "You said my name."

Silence.

Then: "They told us your name. But not like this."

Her voice was dry, like leaves cracking underfoot.

Linh waited.

"They said… you escaped. That you spoke. So they used your name. To warn us."

Linh's breath caught. "To warn?"

The girl looked at her.

"If you speak, you disappear. If you try to leave, they replace you."

She pulled up her sleeve. The scar was there. Crude. Healing.

"They gave me Y-01. But I don't know my real name."

Linh felt something shift in her chest. Something hot and wrong.

"They're still active," she whispered. "Still training. Still branding."

The girl stared out the window. "They said one more thing."

Linh leaned in. "What?"

A long silence.

Then: "M.A.I. isn't a name. It's a sentence."

She turned to Linh. Her voice sharper now. "It means: Missing. Alive. Invisible. That's what they called the ones who tried to run."

Linh froze. The room felt colder.

Then the girl added: "But if you're real… then maybe I can be, too."

Linh reached across the table.

And for the first time, the girl didn't pull away.