He didn't know how long he stared at the key.
Long enough for the book to cool in his hands.
Long enough for the weight in his chest to feel like his own.
The ladder was behind him.
It hadn't been there before.
It rose up into a soft circular opening, carved into the ceiling like the mouth of a well.
He didn't hesitate.
He tucked the book under his arm and climbed.
Each rung creaked like it remembered who he was.
By the time he reached the top, his arms were trembling—not from the climb, but from what he still carried inside him.
The room above was pale and green, touched by wind.
And she was there.
The girl.
Sitting on the edge of a stone bench, watching birds that weren't real flutter across a sky that didn't move.
She turned when she saw him.
She smiled.
And before she could say anything—
he crossed the space between them and hugged her.
Hard.
Not like a reunion.
Not like a greeting.
Like an apology that had no words.
Her breath caught. Her arms hesitated. Then gently, she returned the embrace.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
He didn't know why.
He just knew it was the only thing that made sense.
She didn't ask.
She didn't pull away.
They stayed like that for a long time.
The wind never changed.
The book in his hand stayed warm.