Mina confirms the brokers can erase complainants. Nox marks Mina as a field target.
Ticket Seven escaped Mina Park's hoodie at Rainline Station by growing a wet paper tail and slapping her in the mouth with it.
Mina tasted printer ink, old rain, and one-star resentment. She grabbed for the complaint ticket, missed, and watched it skitter under the turnstile on four folded corners. Domino shot after it, a black paper cat streaking between commuter shoes while the midnight train screamed overhead.
"That is your evidence?" Orla Ninefingers asked from beside the gum machine.
"It was flatter in the office."
"Most things are, before the city notices them."
Rainline Station smelled of brake dust and cursed umbrellas. The lost-and-found cages behind the clerk window rattled with objects nobody wanted to claim: a singing umbrella, a suitcase that whispered alibis, three wedding rings arguing in different voices. Mina's support-line phone hung from a charging brick in her pocket, still blinking six percent after the refund sigil had chewed most of its battery. The queue showed one active one-star review, caller name erased, handler locked to Mina.
Across the concourse, Nox Harrow leaned against a snack kiosk and smiled with all his stamped teeth.
Orla clicked her tongue. "Your ventilation friend."
"He is not my friend."
"Good. Friends cost more."
Ticket Seven darted toward Platform B. Every time it passed a station ad, the smiling model's name vanished from the poster. Mina understood then why the complaint had tried to run. The review brokers were scrubbing witness names from anything close to the route.
She vaulted the turnstile. The gate caught her hoodie pocket and tore it open. Coins scattered across the tile, Aunt Nari's rent change rolling into a drain with a bright, final clink.
"Of course," Mina muttered. "The city accepts payment."
Domino pounced on Ticket Seven near the yellow safety line. The ticket hissed. A pale blank opened where the complainant's name should have been.
Nox pushed away from the kiosk. "Careful, Mina Park. Handling nameless complaints can make a handler disposable."
"Is that your official quality assurance advice?"
"No. This is." He flicked a red-toothed stamp toward the platform wall.
The stamp hit an old transit poster. The printed woman's face blinked, opened her paper mouth, and screamed without sound. Her name peeled off the corner in thin white strips.
Mina's phone buzzed. The support-line queue displayed the same missing name as static. ONE-STAR REVIEW: HANDLER FAILED TO REMEMBER ME.
Orla's expression hardened. "That one paid me for a safe route last winter."
"Who?"
"I do not know anymore." Orla sounded furious about it. "Which means somebody made me forget on purpose."
The train lights appeared in the tunnel. Ticket Seven jerked toward the track, trying to throw itself under the wheels. Mina dropped to her knees and pinned its tail with the barcode wand.
"State your grievance," she said.
The ticket shook. Ink bled from its fold.
Nox laughed. "It has no name. No name, no summons. No monster client. No evidence."
Mina looked at Domino. "Eat the fake rating, not the ticket."
Domino bit the red stamp mark on the poster. The paper cat's body went rigid. Ink pawprints burst across the tiles, each print forming one letter before the rain from the tunnel washed it thin.
L I A N S O O.
The ticket gasped. Not a human gasp. A receipt remembering air.
The train roared into the station. Mina grabbed Ticket Seven, rolled away from the edge, and slammed into a gum-crusted bench hard enough to bruise her shoulder. Her phone bounced across the floor. The screen cracked through the caller field, but the support-line queue held.
"Lian Soo," Mina said into the speaker. "If that is your name, confirm the complaint."
The lost-and-found cages burst open. A damp scarf flew out and wrapped itself around Mina's wrist. A voice came through the fabric, thin and furious. "They washed me out of my own contract."
Nox stopped smiling.
Mina pointed the barcode wand at the scarf. It printed a receipt strip showing the Mirror Laundromat, one laundered witness name, and Nox's bite stamp fading under soap sigils.
Commuters stared. A child whispered, "Mom, the cheap support lady caught a ghost scarf."
Mina would have objected to cheap if her drained phone, torn hoodie, and lost rent coins had not made the case too strong.
Nox stepped toward her. "Give me the strip."
Orla opened her coat. Nine fingers, three knives, and a dozen counterfeit transit charms glinted inside. "Platform rules. No broker work while the train doors are open."
The doors chimed. Nox's teeth clicked shut.
Mina tucked the strip into her sleeve beside the refund map. "Tell your laundromat I hate folding."
"It already knows," Nox said. "It has your apartment address."
He vanished into the crowd as the train pulled out. Ticket Seven softened in Mina's hand, no longer trying to run. The blank caller field filled with Lian Soo's name, then rang her phone with an incoming call from a number that had been erased from the city directory.
Mina answered before fear could make her practical.
The voice on the line said, "If you remember me, handler, come before they wash my bones."