The air didn't move the way it did in the outside world.
There was no breeze to rustle leaves, no gentle sway of branches.
It wasn't like the warm shimmer rising off a sun-baked road either.
Here, the air felt strange—thick and stretched, like the skin of water just before it breaks.
It clung to everything, pressing down in a stillness so complete it was as if the entire Fork was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Kaito stood in the middle of the old corridor. Once, the walls here had been perfectly white and smooth, like polished glass.
Now, they were scarred with fine cracks, thin as spiderwebs, spreading in all directions.
The dark lines seemed alive, as if something deep beneath the surface was pushing upward, slow but unstoppable, trying to break free..
