His workshop was a Faraday cage buried three stories beneath a noodle shop. Wires dripped from the ceiling like metallic ivy, feeding into a console that looked like a church organ crossed with a heart-lung machine. The screen glowed with the lattice of the world’s costx architecture—a shimmering web where nodes were moments and threads were consequences.

“Can you do it?”

Heard you’re the best. I want to crack the costx of forgetting someone I loved. Name your price.