A Registry clerk finds a ledger of the dead. Every name on it is still breathing.
Margaret Vane has spent eleven years at the Registry deciding what the country is allowed to see — where the cameras point, where the guards walk, which corners go dark because the budget will never reach them. She is the best they have. She knows the building the way other people know the rooms of their own house.
Then a file crosses her desk that does not balance: a plain list of names marked expired — people struck from the record while they are still drawing breath, their accounts closed, their lives squared away like a column that would not add up. She reads it twice. Then she does the correct thing, the thing the rules she wrote tell her to do. She reports it, through the proper channel.
Within a day, the system she understands completely has turned on her. Her badge stops at the door. Her name is on no roster. There is one file left in the world that proves she was ever real — and in the morning the paper is to be burned for good.
To take it back, she must walk into the building whose blind spots she drew in her own hand.
A cold, slow-burn literary spy novel of bureaucratic dread and tradecraft made of paper, not pistols — for readers of John le Carré, Mick Herron, and Graham Greene.
Open the file.
Filed Under No One is also a playable stealth game — the night Margaret goes back in, told the way only a game can tell it. The novel stands complete on its own; together, book and game are one story across two media.
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