The last flecks of ash swirled lazily in the cold air. I was still staring at the empty spot where the Weaver had stood when the floor under my boots shifted—just a fraction, but enough to set every alarm in my brain screaming.
"Lena…"
"I know." Her voice was low, sharp. "We have to move."
We started down the corridor we'd entered from—except it wasn't the same corridor anymore. The ceiling felt lower, the walls narrower, like the building had taken a breath and clenched its ribs around us.
The hum was gone, but something else replaced it: a faint rhythmic creak, like metal bending under invisible weight.
"Was that thing… controlling the place?" I asked.
Lena didn't answer. She was already ahead of me, spear in hand, moving like she knew exactly where to go.
"Lena!" I called. "Did you hear me?"
She stopped at a junction, scanning left and right. "Not exactly," she said finally. "But it left something behind."
"Something?"
She turned sharply left. I followed—and froze.
The hallway curved, but not like normal architecture. It bent too sharply, like a ribcage curling inward. The floor tilted under my feet as we moved, and a cold draft blew from nowhere, carrying the faint smell of wet earth.
"This isn't possible," I muttered.
Lena glanced back. "Don't think about it. Just keep walking."
I caught it in her face—a flicker of recognition, like she'd seen this before.
"You've been here," I said. Not a question.
Her jaw tightened, but she didn't answer.
We passed a row of sealed doors. Some had warning symbols I didn't recognize—triangles, circles, jagged lines—etched deep into the steel. One door rattled faintly as we passed, like something inside was breathing.
"Don't look at them," Lena said without turning her head.
"Why?"
"Because they might look back."
The creaking sound grew louder. I realized it wasn't coming from the walls—it was coming from behind us.
"Something's following," I said.
"Faster," she replied.
We turned another corner. My stomach lurched—this was the same intersection we'd passed three minutes ago.
"Wait—" I stopped, pointing. "We're looping."
"No, it's looping us," Lena corrected, eyes narrowing. "The hall's folding in on itself."
She reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled out a thin strip of metal. Without explanation, she pressed it against the wall. The metal hissed, heating instantly, leaving a black scorch mark.
"We mark the turns now," she said.
We ran again, the scorch marks multiplying, but the corridor kept spitting us back to the same damn intersection. The sound behind us was closer now—sliding, wet, dragging across the floor.
My pulse hammered in my ears. "Tell me you have a plan."
Lena didn't answer immediately. She stared down the far corridor, eyes unfocused, like she was listening to something I couldn't hear.
"There's a door," she said finally. "It's not… supposed to be here. But it will be."
"That's not reassuring."
We sprinted down another passage, walls bending inward until I could've touched both sides with my elbows. Lights flickered overhead, stuttering in and out, showing glimpses of things I didn't want to see—dark shapes shifting behind the wall panels, something thin and jointed crawling in the shadows above.
"Lena…" I said.
"I see it," she replied.
The corridor widened suddenly. At the far end was a single black door—featureless, no handle, no frame, just standing there in the middle of the wall.
"That wasn't here before," I said.
"It wasn't supposed to be," Lena replied.
The sound behind us turned into a low hiss.
"Tell me you know where it goes."
She didn't look at me when she answered. "I know where it used to go."
Before I could ask, she grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward it. The closer we got, the colder the air became, frosting the metal around us.
Something scraped the floor just out of sight. I risked a glance back—and wished I hadn't.
A pale hand, far too large, curled around the corner. Then another. The thing that followed us was dragging itself forward, slow but deliberate, its limbs bending the wrong way.
"Lena—"
She shoved me at the door. "Go!"
"But—"
The door wasn't solid—it was like stepping through cold smoke. The moment I crossed, the air vanished, replaced by a blinding white light that swallowed everything.
I reached back for her, but my hand grabbed only empty air.
The light flickered once—then went black.
And I was alone.