"Hi, Marcus," she says. Her voice is not a recording. It has breath in it. A slight hoarseness, like she just woke up. "You look tired. Have you eaten?"
Inside, nestled in grey foam, is a glass orb the size of a grapefruit. It is cold to the touch. A single instruction is printed on the inside of the lid: Place in the centre of the room. Speak your name.
The box arrives on a Tuesday. It is unmarked except for a small silver logo that looks like a closed eye.