The air purifier’s monotonous hum fills my cramped apartment, its blue light casting ghostly shadows across stacks of encrypted documents. Must maintain cover. Must appear normal. Just another mid-level bureaucrat with respiratory sensitivities. The machine whirs. Cleanses. Purifies.

“Your attention to air quality is… remarkable,” Chen says, examining the device with calculated casualness. His pressed suit and perfect Mandarin mark him as Beijing intelligence. Or counter-intelligence? The boundaries blur these days.

I force a self-deprecating laugh. “Doctor’s orders. My lungs, you know.” The lie flows smoothly after months of repetition. The purifier’s display blinks: PM2.5 levels nominal. All clear. But nothing is clear anymore.

Fragments of memories intrude: Training in Langley. The handler’s warnings. Deep cover protocols. The weight of the micro-camera hidden in my watch. The documents in my briefcase that could expose everything - or nothing. Sometimes I’m not sure which is which anymore.

“Tea?” I offer, moving toward the kitchen. Away from the briefcase. Away from the truth.

“Please.” Chen settles into my faded armchair like he belongs there. Perhaps he does. Perhaps this was always his territory and I’m the intruder. The purifier hums. Cleanses. Judges.

The kettle whistles - a sharp note cutting through layers of deception. Green tea leaves unfurl in porcelain cups like secrets unraveling. Time stretches like taffy.

“Interesting reports coming from your department,” Chen remarks. Casual words carrying lethal weight. “Especially regarding the semiconductor project.”

The air purifier’s fan speed increases automatically. More particles to filter. More impurities to remove. Like lies from truth? Like spies from bureaucrats?

“Standard quarterly updates.” I keep my voice level. “Nothing remarkable.”

“Nothing remarkable,” Chen echoes. The purifier’s blue light catches his glasses, obscuring his eyes. “Yet your air purifier runs constantly. Filtering. Processing. Like certain encrypted channels we’ve detected.”

My heart stutters. The tea scalds my tongue but I don’t flinch. Can’t flinch. The purifier’s display flashes: Filter change required. Warning. Warning.

“Modern life,” I shrug. “So many impurities to remove.”

Chen stands, straightening his immaculate tie. “Indeed. We all seek clarity, don’t we? Clean air. Clean information. Clean loyalties.”

The purifier’s hum grows louder, or perhaps that’s just the blood rushing in my ears. Chen moves toward the door, then pauses.

“Your model,” he gestures at the purifier. “It’s quite old. Inefficient. You should upgrade to something more… reliable.”

The door clicks shut behind him. The purifier continues its endless cycle: inhale, filter, exhale. Like secrets. Like lies. Like

The display blinks once and goes dark.