Night fell over the camp, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Neo lay on something that almost qualified as comfort.
The bed Byron had put together was absurdly decent for a shack built at the base of a tower in the middle of a closed Breach. The frame held. The roof didn't drip. And the pelts thrown over the bedding were softer than anything Neo had slept on in years.
He stared up at the ceiling.
'Byron really does feel like one of those dwarves from stories. Give him a pile of wood, some bones, and half a day, and he starts crafting furniture.'
The thought nearly amused him.
Sleep refused to come.
Every time he shut his eyes, the same things returned. The white door. The statue inside. That narrow line of light cutting through the interior from somewhere above. The group of five guarding the entrance like mongrels growling over a carcass they didn't own.
Neo clicked his tongue under his breath.
'Yeah. I'm not sleeping like this.'
