The Hall of Records wasn't a hall.
It was a maze.
Tall shelves made of dark wood rose higher than Milo could reach, stacked with scrolls tied in colorful ribbons. Clay jars lined the lower shelves, each marked with careful symbols. The air smelled like dust and ink, with a hint of something sweet—maybe honey cakes cooling somewhere nearby.
Milo had never seen so much history in one place. Which was saying something, because his bedroom was still holding onto a seventh-grade science project from three months ago.
Two priests in long white robes led the way, their bare feet silent against the stone floor. Whiskers padded beside them, glancing up at the shelves like she was considering leaping to the very top just to see if she could.
"You must be careful here," one of the priests said over his shoulder. "Some rooms are… not for the living."
Milo swallowed. "Not for the living? Like, ghost storage?"
The priest didn't answer, which was never a comforting sign.
They stopped in a small chamber with a low table in the center. On it sat a piece of rolled papyrus tied with a golden cord.
"This is the Riddle of Bastet," the priest said, bowing slightly to Whiskers. "It will tell you where to find the lost head of the idol. But it must be read in the right place, under the right light, or its meaning will be lost."
He placed the scroll on the table. Whiskers sniffed it once, then BAM!
Something crashed in the next room.
Everyone turned.
Milo frowned. "Uh… was that the right-place, right-light room?"
The other priest hurried away to investigate. Milo started to follow—only to realize Whiskers was gone.
"Oh no," Milo whispered. He already knew where she'd gone.
The priests had warned him earlier about the one room no one was allowed to enter—the one they called the Chamber of Shadows. The one with the statue missing its golden cat head.
And if there was one thing Whiskers couldn't resist, it was a closed door.
The Chamber of Shadows was lit only by a few flickering torches. Rows of statues lined the walls—some human, some animal, all carved from cool, smooth stone.
In the center stood a tall pedestal draped in a faded cloth. The air felt heavy here, as if it were holding its breath.
Whiskers sat at the base of the pedestal, tail twitching. She glanced at Milo like she'd been expecting him.
"Don't you dare," Milo whispered.
Whiskers leapt.
Her paws landed on the pedestal with a thunk, and the cloth slipped to the floor.
Beneath it was a statue of a sleek, regal cat… with no head. The neck ended in a jagged stump of stone.
Before Milo could even process that, the air shifted. A low hum filled the room, and the carved eyes of the other statues seemed to follow him.
Then, faintly—almost like it was coming from the collar around Whiskers' neck—a sound:
tick… tock… tick…
Milo's heart thudded in time with it.
And then, from somewhere deep in the walls, a cold whisper curled into the air:
"Return what was taken… or be taken in its place."
Whiskers froze. Even her tail went still.
Milo swallowed hard. "Right," he said, voice shaking. "So… not ghost storage. Just… doom storage."
The torches flickered violently.
Milo reached for Whiskers. "Come on. Before the walls decide we're furniture."
She didn't move at first. She stared at the headless statue, eyes narrowed, ears angled forward. And for a second, Milo could have sworn her collar glowed—not the soft shimmer from before, but a sharper, brighter light, like it was recognizing something.
Then she jumped down, landing silently beside him.
The ticking in her collar faded. The heavy feeling in the air eased. But Milo knew—whatever they had just awakened, it wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon.