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His laptop screen changed. The Colosseum was replaced by a live feed. It was his own living room, shot from a camera he didn’t own. In the feed, his own reflection in the dark window looked back, but the reflection’s mouth wasn’t moving in sync. The reflection’s lips formed a silent, perfect: *“*Sì. Così.”

*“*Non voglio. Ma non posso fermarlo.”

Leo groaned. He was a software engineer, a man who solved problems with logic and bandwidth, not with rolled ‘r’s. He opened his laptop, fingers flying. Italian for tourism. Audio course. Instant download. Pimsleur Italian Download

Leo’s lips moved, but the words came out as a question. “ Ho bisogno di un biglietto del treno per Firenze? ”

“Ascolta. Listen. You are now on Lesson Zero.” His laptop screen changed

“Repeat after me: ‘I need a train ticket to Florence.’”

He stood up. His legs obeyed. But his inner monologue was now a dual-language mess. He saw his car keys— chiavi . He saw the time— mezzanotte . In the feed, his own reflection in the

He wanted to scream. But all that came out was a perfect, liquid, unaccented sentence:

He grabbed his phone to call Maya, but when he opened his contacts, every name was misspelled Italian-style. Maya had become Maia . Leo was now Leone .

The voice returned, patient as a glacier.