Alex dreamed of hallways.
That wasn't unusual.
What was unusual was that this time, the hallways ended.
He woke up at 2:43 a.m. with the certainty that something had changed.
Downstairs, his house was quiet. Too quiet. Even the refrigerator had stopped its usual complaining.
His phone buzzed.
Sam:u awake
Alex: unfortunately
Sam: cool because i think i found a door that does not respect physics
Alex sat up.
---
They met by the fence again—because of course they did.
The orange barriers had been shifted overnight, not moved so much as rearranged. The path through them now curved in a way that felt intentional, like someone had wanted feet to follow it.
Sam shivered. "I don't like when objects have opinions."
Jordan knelt near the storm drain from yesterday, prying loose a loose grate with more ease than he should've had.
"It wasn't loose before," he said.
Lena scanned the area. "No guards?"
Riley shook his head. "They're here. Just… elsewhere."
Maya stopped abruptly.
"There," she whispered.
At the base of the drain ladder—where concrete should have continued—was a flat metal surface.
Smooth.
Unlabeled.
And very definitely not rusted.
Sam stared. "That is the least sewer-looking sewer I've ever seen."
Jordan ran his fingers along the edge. "No bolts. No seams."
Alex frowned. "Then how does it open?"
As if offended by the question, the metal shifted.
Not sliding. Not swinging.
It simply… wasn't solid anymore.
The surface softened, rippling like water under glass.
Maya gasped softly. "It recognizes us."
Sam blinked. "Rude. I didn't consent to that."
Alex stepped back. "Okay. Nobody touch it."
Too late.
Riley had already leaned closer, eyes unfocused.
"It's not a door," he said quietly. "It's a pause."
Jordan stared. "In what?"
Riley swallowed. "In the space between here and there."
Sam exhaled sharply. "You're killing my sense of normal."
The pause deepened.
A rectangular outline appeared, faint but unmistakable.
A door that hadn't existed ten seconds ago.
---
Inside the building—aboveground—the hum shifted.
Maya pressed a hand to her chest. "It knows."
Alex looked at her. "Knows what?"
"That we're about to see something we weren't meant to."
Lena crossed her arms. "That's been true for weeks."
Sam nodded. "At this point, that's our brand."
Alex hesitated. "We don't have to do this."
The door pulsed gently.
Jordan tilted his head. "Yes. We do."
Alex met his eyes. "Why?"
"Because if we don't," Jordan said quietly, "someone else will. And they won't care what it costs."
That settled it.
Sam sighed. "Fine. But if we die, I'm haunting you."
---
The moment Alex touched the door, the world paused.
Not stopped.
Paused.
Sound flattened. Light dulled. The fence, the trees, the sky—all held in a frozen inhale.
Then—
The door opened.
They stepped through.
---
The air on the other side was colder and cleaner, smelling faintly of disinfectant and something burnt long ago.
Lights flickered on automatically.
A corridor stretched ahead—metal walls, floor marked with faded arrows and numbers.
Sam whispered, "Okay, now this is a secret facility."
Jordan crouched, examining a faded sign.
LEVEL -2: COGNITIVE INTERFACEWING
Lena frowned. "Cognitive what ?"
Maya's head throbbed.
"They were studying how places think," she said. "How space remembers."
Alex stared at her. "You sure?"
Maya nodded shakily. "I can feel it. This is where it started listening."
A door farther down the hall creaked open by itself.
Sam jumped. "NOPE."
Riley stepped forward instead.
Inside the room were desks. Monitors. Chairs coated in dust.
And on one wall—
Photographs.
Of the town.
Older.
Different.
Jordan sucked in a breath. "This is Marrow."
Alex frowned. "That's not possible. Half these buildings didn't exist back then."
Lena pointed. "That one did."
At the center of the photos was a familiar outline.
Not the building as it was now.
But the idea of it.
A placeholder.
Sam whispered, "So they planned it."
Maya shook her head.
"They needed it."
A low thump echoed through the facility.
Not from ahead.
From below.
Jordan's voice was tight. "Tell me that was structural settling."
The lights flickered.
A distant sound followed—like something dragging itself along metal.
Sam swallowed. "I miss the sinkhole lie."
On a nearby desk, a file lay open.
Alex read the title aloud.
PROJECT PALIMPSEST — PHASE I: CONTAINMENT FAILURE
Riley turned slowly.
"Then whatever they buried," he said, "was never contained."
The door behind them closed.
Softly.
Deliberately.
And somewhere deep beneath Marrow, something old and patient realized it was no longer alone.