Silence did not disperse with closing doors.
It hovered.
A slow wave, creeping into the corners of the room, nudging the edges of awareness. Even the ambient hum of the Threadscape's cross-hatched code receded, and there remained only the stifled sound of breathing — fitful, faltering, as though every inhalation had to struggle for release.
Kaito stood leaning back against the cold metal of the frame, head bowed sufficiently that the faint light cut across his features in serrated lines.
It did not come naturally to have shadows here — it was as if they flowed with the building, with the twisted geometry of a place not entirely committed to one dimension.
Nyra sat at the opposite end, shoulders slumped forward, face averted. She'd spoken not a single word since they left the room.
Not as they stepped out across the narrowing bridge, not as the splitting corridors closed behind them, severing paths they'd never step again.
It was a silence that did not invite approach.
