The infirmary light was too bright.
LIAM TORRES squinted up at the ceiling and tried to remember when overhead panels had gotten this white.
"Sorry," PATCH said, adjusting the lamp away from his eyes. "We keep meaning to install mood lighting. Budget disagrees."
She tapped something on her tablet.
"How's the head?" she asked.
"Fuzzy," Liam said.
"More specific fuzzy," she said. "Dizzy? Nauseous? Feel like your thoughts are two seconds behind your mouth?"
"Yes?" he tried.
PATCH's mouth twitched.
"That tracks," she said.
She flashed a penlight in his eyes. His pupils shrank on cue.
"Good news, Liam Torres," she said. "You still have a functioning brain. I'm mildly impressed."
He tried to smile.
"How long was I down there?" he asked.
PATCH checked her files.
"In baseline time?" she said. "Somewhere in the vicinity of two to three hours between leaving class and us pulling you out of the tunnel."
"It felt..." he started, then stopped. His fingers tightened in the blanket.
"Longer?" she supplied.
"Shorter," he said. "Like I blinked and we were just... somewhere else. Then I blinked and Tim was gone. Then I blinked and there was this guy with a gun telling me not to run."
PATCH nodded.
"That's consistent with the distortions we saw on the feed," she said. "The tunnel played hopscotch with your sense of continuity."
"Is Tim okay?" Liam asked.
PATCH's expression smoothed.
"We don't know yet," she said. "But people who are very good at weird holes are looking into it. Your job is to drink water and answer my annoying questions."
He glanced at the IV stand.
"Do I get to go home?" he asked.
"Eventually," she said. "After you pass a few more tests and some nice people in suits explain how you absolutely did not get lost in a government-restricted tunnel that may or may not bend time."
Liam swallowed.
"Am I in trouble?" he asked.
PATCH considered.
"Not with me," she said. "With whoever marks your attendance? Maybe. With the universe? Jury's out."
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," PATCH called.
The door opened.
WAYPOINT slid in, still in her civilian-facing jacket, smile turned down to a gentler setting.
"Hey, Liam," she said. "You remember me?"
"Gate lady," he said.
"I'll take it," she said. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I'm in more trouble than my mom can afford," he said.
WAYPOINT huffed a laugh.
"Well, the good news is, I've seen worse," she said. "The bad news is, you're still getting a lecture before you leave."
"From you?" he asked.
"From me," she said.
He relaxed a fraction.
PATCH handed WAYPOINT a holo-slate.
"Cognitive baseline looks good," PATCH said. "A few minor processing hiccups. Could be stress. Could be the anomaly. We'll monitor."
"Got it," WAYPOINT said.
She looked back at Liam.
"You want anything?" she asked. "Water, juice, world's least satisfying cookie?"
"Can I... talk to the guy who pulled me out?" Liam asked.
PATCH and WAYPOINT traded a glance.
"He's debriefing," PATCH said. "But I'll let him know you asked."
Liam nodded.
"Okay," he said. "Can you... tell him thanks?"
PATCH's expression softened.
"I will," she said.
Fulcrum's debrief was mercifully short.
"Vitals stable," PATCH said, flipping through her summary. "Mild time-adjacent stress spike. No obvious cognitive distortions. Self-report?"
"Tired," FULCRUM said.
"Emotionally," she clarified.
He considered.
"Glad the kid walked out," he said. "Not glad his friend didn't."
PATCH nodded.
"That's what we call a normal reaction," she said. "Congratulations."
He didn't answer.
"Liam asked for you," she added.
He blinked.
"He did?" he said.
"Yeah," she said. "Wants to say thanks before he gets fed into the paperwork machine."
FULCRUM hesitated.
"Is that a problem?" PATCH asked.
"No," he said.
She watched him for a second.
"Okay," she said. "You're clear to go. Try not to walk into any unauthorized holes on the way to the infirmary."
"I'll do my best," he said.
Liam stared at the ceiling until the door opened a second time.
This knock was softer.
"Hey," FULCRUM said.
Up close, without helmet and armor, he looked less like an action figure and more like a tired man in a plain uniform. The eyes were the same, though. Focused. Steady.
"Hi," Liam said.
FULCRUM stepped in, closing the door behind him.
"Liam Torres," he said. "I'm FULCRUM ."
"That your real name?" Liam blurted.
"No," FULCRUM said. "But it's the one that matters down there."
Liam flushed.
"Sorry," he said.
"It's fine," FULCRUM said. "PATCH said you wanted to talk."
Liam picked at the blanket.
"I just..." he started. "I don't remember much. Just... the tunnel, and then you were there, and..."
He swallowed.
"You didn't let go," he said.
FULCRUM's hand flexed at his side, phantom memory of fingers around a shaking forearm.
"That was the job," he said.
"I know," Liam said quickly. "But. Thank you."
FULCRUM inclined his head.
"You're welcome," he said.
"Is Tim dead?" Liam asked suddenly.
FULCRUM didn't lie.
"I don't know," he said. "We didn't see a body. That means there's still a question mark, not a period."
Liam let out a shaky laugh.
"Wish my English teacher could hear you say that," he said.
"I'm better with floor plans than punctuation," FULCRUM said.
Liam studied him.
"Are you okay?" Liam asked.
FULCRUM blinked.
"I'm not the one in the bed," he said.
"Yeah, but..." Liam gestured vaguely. "You went down there too. Doesn't it mess you up?"
FULCRUM thought about time stretching, the tunnel breathing around them, the tug of the red corridor.
"Yes," he said. "Sometimes."
"And you keep doing it?" Liam asked.
"Yes," FULCRUM said.
"Why?"
FULCRUM considered the question.
"Because if I don't," he said slowly, "someone who's worse at it will."
Liam stared at him.
"That's a stupid reason," Liam said.
"Yes," FULCRUM said.
Liam huffed.
"Occupational hazard?" he tried.
FULCRUM almost smiled.
"Something like that," he said.
PATCH appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
"Time's up—for now," she said. "Liam needs rest. FULCRUM needs to go pretend he's filling out paperwork."
"I actually am filling out paperwork," FULCRUM said.
PATCH nodded solemnly.
"And I'm a ballerina," she said. "Shoo."
FULCRUM stepped back.
"Get some sleep, Liam," he said.
"You too," Liam said.
FULCRUM didn't argue.
The quiet room just off the map bay had become unofficial neutral ground.
A small couch. A coffee table. A door that closed.
Right now, it held CATACOMB, one leg tucked under her, hoodie swallowed around her like a soft shell, and KESTREL, in a borrowed t-shirt and standard-issue sweatpants.
Two mugs sat on the table between them.
"You look like someone folded you in half and forgot to unfold you again," Catacomb said.
KESTREL snorted.
"Says tunnel gremlin number one," she said.
Catacomb took a sip of tea.
"You handled topside well," she said. "Your evac lines were clean. Civilians didn't wander into any holes. That's rare."
KESTREL picked at a loose thread on her cuff.
"Thanks," she said.
Silence stretched, companionable and slightly awkward.
"You... and FULCRUM ," Catacomb said finally. "You've worked together long?"
"Feels like forever," KESTREL said. "Probably not that long on paper."
Catacomb nodded.
"You care about him," she said.
KESTREL's jaw worked.
"Yes," she said.
CATACOMB didn't flinch.
"Good," she said.
KESTREL blinked.
"That's it?" KESTREL asked. "No territorial snarling? No 'back off, he's mine'?"
CATACOMB made a face.
"Ew," she said. "No. He's his."
KESTREL laughed, surprised.
"That's... fair," she said.
CATACOMB shrugged.
"I'm an old flame," she said. "We're... something. We're also grown-ups with jobs that eat people. I'm not going to pick a fight with his rope handler."
"Rope handler," KESTREL repeated.
"You know what I mean," CATACOMB said.
KESTREL sobered.
"I like him," she said quietly. "But I also like him alive. If that means being the one who holds the line while he walks toward the weird, I'll take it."
CATACOMB studied her.
"You tell him that?" she asked.
KESTREL shook her head.
"He knows," she said.
"Does he?" CATACOMB asked.
KESTREL thought about the way he'd nodded when she said she wanted to be on his six in the maze, the way his voice had eased half a notch when she said she had the rope.
"Maybe in his own way," she said.
CATACOMB smiled.
"He's slow with feelings," she said. "Good with doors, terrible with hearts. You learn to work around it."
KESTREL snorted.
"You sound fond," KESTREL said.
"I am," CATACOMB said simply.
KESTREL took a breath.
"If you hurt him," she said. "I'll tie you to a rail and let the anomaly decide what to do with you."
CATACOMB's smile sharpened.
"Fair," she said. "If he hurts you, I'll redraw every map he uses so the only safe exits go through my lectures."
KESTREL grimaced.
"That's cruel," she said.
"Occupational hazard," CATACOMB said.
They both laughed.
The tension eased another notch.
By the time FULCRUM found the quiet room, the mugs were empty and KESTREL had drifted out.
CATACOMB sat alone on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, staring at nothing.
"You okay?" he asked from the doorway.
She looked up.
"Yes," she said. "Complicated."
He stepped inside and closed the door.
"Tired," he said.
"Me too," she said.
He sank onto the couch beside her.
They sat in silence for a while.
"Kid asked about you," she said finally.
"I spoke to him," FULCRUM said. "He called my reasoning stupid."
"He's not wrong," she said.
"I know," he said.
She tipped sideways until her shoulder rested against his.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?" he asked.
"For walking away from the red corridors," she said. "For not trying to be a hero when the tunnel batted its eyes at you."
He exhaled.
"Maze runs stick," he said.
She hummed.
"Good," she said.
He let his head tip back against the cushion.
"You going back down there?" he asked.
"Eventually," she said. "Maps don't make themselves. But not tonight."
He nodded.
"Not tonight," he echoed.
She shifted enough to tuck herself into his side, legs folded up, cheek against his shoulder.
He lifted an arm in reflex, letting it settle around her.
"Okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said. "Just... borrowing a few seconds where the tunnel's not trying to kill us."
He closed his eyes.
In the quiet, the hum of the Site felt steady. No stretched moments. No jumps.
Just now.
"Borrow as many as you want," he said.
She smiled against his shoulder.
"Careful," she murmured. "I'm a perfectionist. I'll keep asking for more."
He didn't say he hoped she would.
He just held her a little closer.
Outside, somewhere under the city, the warped tunnel breathed and waited.
Inside, for a handful of borrowed seconds, the only geometry that mattered was the space they shared on the couch and the slow, even rhythm of two heartbeats that, for once, were in sync.