I reassemble my sandwich and keep eating.
Ashlynn freezes mid‑chew.
"Is. That. An. EYEBALL?"
"You can have it," I say, flicking the eyeball. It rolls toward her.
She gags once—then vomits hard onto the floor.
The sound is sharp and violent. Too loud for the small room. It echoes off the walls and comes back wrong.
I don't stop. I keep chewing.
"At least swallow the meat," I say.
She fumbles for the cup of water already on the table and drinks too fast. Water spills down her chin, darkening her uniform. She doesn't wipe it. She just stares at me, eyes glassy, breathing uneven.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"
Her voice cracks at the end. She flinches like she wants to pull the words back into her mouth.
Ashlynn opens her sandwich with shaking fingers. She peels the meat away from the bread. The eyeball rolls once on the plate before she traps it with the edge of her thumb. She pushes both aside and eats only the bread.
She gags as she chews.
Stops.
Breathes.
Forces herself to swallow.
I watch her throat move.
Once.
Twice.
I don't know why I'm counting. It doesn't calm me.
We finish eating. She slides her untouched meat toward me without looking. I eat it. She keeps her eyes on the ceiling until I finish. I leave the eyeballs on the table.
I think: I can be picky.
After we finish, I walk to the door and press my ear against it.
No noise. No sound. Just silence.
"Unlock it," I say as I step away from the door.
Ashlynn unlocks the door. The click sounds louder than it should.
Then I pull Ashlynn back and open the door halfway, scanning the corridor. Empty. Still. Like it has been left.
I step out first slowly. Ashlynn follows.
"We came from that way," I say, pointing at one direction. "Let's try the other."
Ashlynn nods.
We take two steps forward.
Then—
Creak.
A door ahead opens by itself.
I move forward and glance inside.
Empty room. Bare stone. No movement.
My shoulders are tight. I don't relax them.
I tell myself I don't need to.
We continue walking.
Creak.
Another door opens.
I glance inside.
A single chair. Centered. Facing the doorway.
Creak.
A different door opens.
A faceless figure sits on a chair.
Ashlynn's fingers curl around my sleeve—not gripping, just anchoring.
Creak.
Another door opens.
A faceless figure stands. No chair.
Creak.
Creak.
Creak.
Creak.
Every visible door ahead opens.
Faceless figures fill the doorways. Standing. Sitting. All oriented toward us. Their bodies don't lean. Don't breathe. Don't adjust.
They're already aligned.
I grab Ashlynn's hand and run.
We sprint along the curved corridor, boots slapping stone. I shove open a door to the next section and slam it behind us. The sound rings out, then dies.
We stop, gasping.
My heart is steady.
Too steady.
That's wrong.
It feels like I missed the moment it should have started racing—like the signal never arrived.
Leechsteel is cold. Still hardened, encasing my forearm like a heavy sleeve.
Ashlynn looks worse. Pale. Sweat beads along her hairline. Her eyes are red and glassy, unfocused. She hugs me suddenly—tight and desperate, like she's checking whether I'm real.
For a moment, I don't hug back.
My arms hesitate.
I don't know why.
Then I do. Late. Awkward.
She pulls away first. I second.
This corridor branches left.
"Let's see where left goes," I say as I point towards the branching left.
"Len," she says quietly. "Are we… fine?"
The question weighs more than it should. Like there's a correct answer I'm supposed to know.
My head feels thick. Pressurized.
"Shhhhh," I say. "We're fine."
The words sound rehearsed. Like something I learned instead of chose.
She nods.
Her face shows doubts but her body still follows me.
We take the left branch and open the door.
Third floor hallway.
High ceiling with big pillars. Liquid lanterns lining the pillars and walls. The light is brighter here—too clean. Every corner visible. No shadows to hide in. The hallway is smaller than the upper levels. Narrower.
In the middle, a T‑shaped intersection.
An elevator shaft at the center. A bell mounted beside it. Doors flank it.
We move toward the elevator. I reach for the bell.
Ashlynn grabs my wrist quick. Her grip isn't strong but enough to stop me.
"Wait."
Her hand trembles.
Cough.
Cough.
We both cough.
The sound scrapes instead of burns, like our lungs are dry metal.
"Well," I say, "do you want to go back to the corridor?"
The words land wrong. Flat. Empty.
Ashlynn lets go of my hand.
I press the bell button.
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNG.
The bell screams through the hallway, bouncing off stone and pillars until it feels like it's ringing inside my skull.
Creak.
Creak.
Creak.
Doors open from every direction.
Faceless figures step out.
There are many.
They walk slowly.
But they don't hesitate.
Their path is obvious.
Us.
I unclip the liquid lantern from my waist and hand it to Ashlynn.
"Defend yourself."
She takes the lantern. Looks at it. Then at me.
Like she's waiting for me to say something else.
We stand with our backs to the elevator shaft.
Cough.
Cough.
Ashlynn coughs harder, bending forward, one hand pressed to her chest.
My heart still isn't racing.
I wait for it.
It never comes.
If I were faster—
If I reacted the way I was supposed to—
this wouldn't feel so quiet.
The faceless figures stop in front of us.
A circle formed around us. Perfect spacing. Motionless.
I step forward.
I swing my leechsteel‑encased arm like a blunt weapon.
BAM.
The nearest head collapses inward. Black liquid bursts out and spatters the floor. The body drops.
Nothing else moves.
I strike another.
Another head caves in. More black liquid. Thick. Glossy.
Another.
And another.
No resistance. No reaction.
Cough.
Cough.
My knees weaken. The hallway tilts.
My heart is still calm.
That frightens me more than the figures.
THUD.
I turn.
Ashlynn collapses.
For a moment, I expect her to move.
"Ash???"
She doesn't.
Something tightens in my chest.
Too late to matter.
Too slow.
Too late.
I try to step toward her.
My legs don't respond.
THUD.
I fall. Knee first. Then my body follows.
Darkness closes in.
—
I'm standing on the edge of a building.
It's impossibly tall—like a mountain made of steel. I look up. The sky feels distant but reachable. I look down. People crawl below like ants. Vehicles move without animals. A giant metal bird roars overhead, tearing the air apart.
"Allen," a girl says behind me.
I turn.
Beautiful face. Soft smile. Green eyes. Brunette.
I don't recognize her.
My chest aches anyway.
I loved her.
—
Cold presses into my cheek.
Rough. Uneven.
Cement.
I roll onto my side and push myself upright until my back hits something hard. The impact knocks the air out of me.
Steel bars.
Vertical. Evenly spaced. Bolted into ceiling and floor.
Beyond them stretches a corridor—straight, narrow, lined with identical cells. Liquid lanterns hang at fixed intervals. Glass containers filled with pale glowing fluid. No flame. No smoke. No heat.
Just light.
Across the corridor, a man lies curled near his bars. Same blue uniform. Different number stitched on his chest. His breathing is shallow.
A familiar sight.
On my side of the bars, to my right—
A bald man sits cross‑legged. Blue uniform. Too‑wide smile.
He stares at me.
Then opens his mouth.
"Good morning, Dinner."