Luna stands in the white void, her hand on a microphone that wants to claim her as the station's next voice. She pulls back, finding herself in the central broadcast booth where every stolen voice has a button. Among them, her mother's. And her own. She presses one, and the station shudders. A record waits with her name etched into its grooves. She must decide whether to play it—or destroy it—before the static swallows her. The original voice's warning echoes: This is how they keep you. In the end, she speaks the name that existed before the lullaby, and the booth cracks open. But outside, the lullaby begins again, and someone is humming along.

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