“I need a query run on a specific social security number and pension file,” I sent. “Margaret Elaine Mitchell. Born September 14, 1933.”

The typing indicator bubbled on the screen, then disappeared, then started again.

“Rachel, you know I can’t just pull pension files without an active case file number,” Claire replied. “The audit logs are strict now. They flag unauthorized searches on deceased dependents.”

“That’s the point,” I typed back, my fingers trembling slightly. “I need to know if she is actually listed as deceased in the system.”

There was a longer pause this time.

I looked over at the empty plastic bassinet near the window.

My newborn son was currently in the high-security nursery downstairs, under a false name, thanks to Lena.

I was alone in this room, surrounded by cold steel rails and the smell of industrial bleach.

“Give me five minutes,” Claire’s message finally read. “I have to use a terminal in the secondary records basement. Stay on this channel.”

I locked the screen but kept the phone gripped tightly in my hand.