The collapse did not come the way she expected.
There was no violent shattering.
No explosion of light.
No sudden end.
It folded.
The world around Rue Yim bent inward, like paper creasing along invisible lines. The hall, the figures, the core—everything compressed toward a single point, not breaking apart but overlapping, stacking, pressing into itself until space no longer behaved like space.
Her breath stopped.
She was still standing.
But nowhere.
The sound returned.
—clack—clack—clack—
Closer than before.
Not distant.
Not approaching.
Around her.
Inside her.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
"This isn't real."
But when she opened them—
The darkness had shape.
Lines.
Edges.
A narrow corridor stretching endlessly forward.
Metal.
Cold.
Wrong.
The train.
She stood inside it now.
Her chest tightened violently.
"No."
The word broke against the walls.
There were no windows.
No doors.
