Buzz froze mid-step like someone pressed pause on his whole life.
The corridor ahead pulsed with soft gold, gentle in a way that tricked the eyes first.
Pretty.
Warm.
Safe.
Zza tugged him back before he leaned in too far, claws digging into his arm so tight his shell creaked.
"Buzz… don't let it charm you," she whispered, breath shaky.
"I'm not charmed," he whispered back. "I'm… pulled."
Alma shoved between them with a shaky grunt, face pale. "This place is wired. The glow isn't decoration. It's a trap signal. We walk in blind, we die in the stupidest way possible."
Buzz stared deeper into the gold. "It said my name."
Alma shook him like he insulted her intelligence. "Everything in here says everything! Half the machines mimic audio patterns. They echo memories, conversations, footstep rhythms. That glow could be repeating a memory you forgot, or—"
"Or it's alive," Zza finished, her eyes narrowing.
Alma's mouth clamped shut, then she nodded reluctantly. "Or that."
