The door opens.
A figure enters.
No eyes. No mouth. No nose.
Black hair. Pale skin. About my height. A red coat over a white shirt. Black pants. Boots.
My heart starts pounding.
It stops a few steps in and stands still. Just stands. Its body is fixed toward me.
I step right. It turns—not the head, the whole body—keeping me centered.
I step left. Same movement. Same correction.
I raise my right hand. The leechsteel forms a blade. I point it at where a face should be. I glance at Ashlynn.
She nods.
I move forward slowly. No rush. No feint. Each step even. Measured.
The leechsteel warms, but its shape holds.
I get close. Too close.
The blade stops a finger's width from its face.
Nothing.
No flinch. No reaction.
I lower my hand.
My heartbeat slows.
I look back at Ashlynn.
"We're safe."
She hesitates, then nods. "If you say so."
I turn away from the figure and gesture for her to move.
I pass it.
POW.
A fist slams into my stomach. The air leaves me. I drop to one knee.
A kick catches my face. I skid backward across the floor.
Ashlynn is on me immediately, hauling me up.
The figure hasn't moved from its spot.
Leechsteel heats again. Still solid.
I charge.
As I swing—
Pain explodes through my leg.
A spear has punched clean through my thigh.
Another faceless figure stands behind me, spear buried deep.
So that's how they talk.
I cut the shaft. The tip stays inside me as I fall to one knee.
The first figure steps forward and swings.
I don't dodge.
I take the hit and bring the blade across its neck.
Clean.
The body collapses.
I lunge for the second—
The leechsteel burns. Too hot. The blade melts, reshaping into a thick casing around my forearm. My punch doesn't land.
The second figure backs away.
Then turns.
Then runs.
Silence.
"We need to get the spearhead out," Ashlynn says.
She guides me to one of the tables.
I lie back.
She presses near the wound. Frowns.
"Your blood's already clotting."
"No," I say. "That's not possible."
She doesn't comment. Takes a knife from a nearby tray. Works quickly. Pulls the spearhead free. She tears cloth from the fallen figure's uniform and binds my leg.
I watch my blood thicken. Close.
Too fast.
"Well," she says quietly, "who are you?"
"Just someone."
She ties the knot. "Tell me when you're ready."
I nod.
I look at my arm. The leechsteel has settled into a hardened sleeve. No blade.
GUUUUUUU—
My stomach growls.
"No food here," I say. "The third floor should have a kitchen."
She nods.
We leave the room.
I glance back once. The cut neck leaks black fluid onto the floor.
The corridor beyond is brick and stone. Curved. Wide. Lanterns spaced evenly. No cells. Only doors. Blood stains fade as we move. The sharp clean smell fades with them. Some doors are quiet. Some are not.
We match our pace to the noise.
At the end, another corridor.
Cleaner. Warmer.
A door opens ahead.
The smell hits us both.
Cooked meat.
A faceless figure steps out. Stops. Faces us.
I walk forward slowly.
It doesn't move.
I glance past it, into the room.
A table. Two chairs. Two cups of water. Two plates. Two sandwiches.
GUUUUUUU—
Ashlynn's stomach betrays her.
"You first," I say.
She slips past the figure. I follow and close the door.
She locks it from inside.
Click.
We sit.
I take a bite.
The bread is tough. The meat is tender. Sweet.
Ashlynn eats fast.
I slow down.
Savor it.
My grip slips.
The bread tears wrong.
Something smooth rolls against my fingers.
The sandwich opens.
An eyeball stares up at me.
Watching.