The corridor swallowed them whole.
Buzz felt the air shift first. It thickened, warmed, curled against his shell like a hand he didn't trust. Zza stiffened beside him. Alma gripped her vest until her knuckles went pale. Even the hum of the inner ring went quiet, as if something deeper pressed a finger to its lips.
A faint glow pulsed ahead.
Gold, but soft.
Warm, but wrong.
Buzz muttered, "This doesn't feel like a trial."
Zza whispered, "It feels like a trap pretending to be comfort."
Alma snorted. "Great. Emotional manipulation. My favorite."
The corridor ended suddenly—no door, no arch, no boundary. Just a sudden shift from metal to something smoother, softer, almost like skin stretched thin across bone.
They stepped inside.
The room brightened.
And split.
Not physically—Buzz blinked, and Zza was gone. Alma was gone. The room flickered around him like it decided everyone needed their own private cage.
Buzz swallowed, claws tightening. "Zza?"
Nothing.
