The hidden passage was narrow enough that Ash's shoulder brushed the wall every few steps. The concrete felt colder down here—older, untouched by light for years.
Palo kept close to the child, who moved with surprising confidence despite the shadows. Their small hand remained lightly clenched around Palo's sleeve, guiding him forward without a word.
Calder followed behind them, breathing slowly, evenly. He had gone pale the deeper they descended, as if the air itself resurrected memories he'd fought hard to bury.
Ash brought up the rear, checking over his shoulder every few seconds. He didn't trust this place, and he never would.
The stairs ended abruptly at a metal door.
It wasn't rusted like the others.
It looked… new.
Ash frowned. "Someone's been down here recently."
Calder's voice was tight. "That's impossible. This section was sealed off before I left. Nobody had authorization, not even the senior overseers."
Palo turned the handle.
It clicked open easily.
On the other side was a long hallway lined with glass cases. Not the macabre kind—no preserved things, nothing violent. Instead, each case held small personal items:
a stuffed toy bunny with one ear torn
a stack of tiny paper stars
a child's sweater
a cracked set of crayons
a row of journals with no names
Palo felt a chill crawl down his spine.
Ash's voice was quiet but steady. "Memorials?"
Calder swallowed. "No. These were objects the researchers collected from the children. They said personal attachments affected the experiments. They took everything away to 'control variables.'"
Palo's stomach twisted. "That's horrible."
"It was normal here," Calder murmured. "Too normal."
The child stopped at one particular case. Inside was a single notebook—small, covered in dark blue fabric, the corners frayed as if often held by small hands.
The child pointed at it.
Palo stepped closer.
The notebook had a faint symbol pressed into its cover—one he recognized instantly.
A repeating spiral pattern.
The same one he used to draw without understanding why.
Ash noticed his expression.
"You've seen this before."
Palo nodded slowly. "I used to draw that everywhere. I didn't even know what it was."
Calder leaned in, brow furrowing.
"This notebook belonged to one of the earliest test subjects. They called her Bloom."
Palo whispered, "She taught me how to hold a pencil."
The child tugged on his sleeve again—harder this time.
They wanted him to open the case.
Ash shook his head. "We don't know if it's safe."
But Calder stepped forward. "These cases aren't alarms. They're symbolic. The tests didn't require security here."
Palo hesitated only a moment before lifting the glass lid.
The child's eyes widened—not with fear, but relief.
Palo picked up the notebook.
It felt warm in his hands, as if someone had held it just moments ago.
Ash leaned in. "What's inside?"
Palo opened to the first page.
A simple drawing filled it—a sketch of a circle with five points around it. Each point held a small symbol:
a flame
a wave
a feather
a stone
and a spiral
Palo whispered, "I've drawn this before…"
Calder's voice was low. "It's the original formation. The earliest children saw it in their dreams. The researchers believed they could access parts of the mind that develop differently under isolation."
Palo's chest tightened. "That sounds like they used us."
"They did," Calder said softly. "But there was something they couldn't control. The children started sharing patterns with each other—ideas that came from nowhere. Some believed it made them connected."
Ash exhaled sharply. "Connected how?"
Calder didn't answer right away. His eyes flicked to the child beside Palo—who stared up at the notebook with a mixture of awe and sorrow.
"Connected enough," Calder said finally, "that when one child escaped… the others felt it."
Palo froze.
Ash whispered, "Calder… what are you saying?"
Calder hesitated, then spoke softly:
"Palo didn't leave this place alone.
The others helped him.
They hid him. Protected him.
But when the overseers realized… they punished the ones who stayed."
Palo felt the ground tilt beneath him.
The child took his hand—their grip small but steady—and nodded as if confirming everything.
Ash stepped closer protectively. "So this isn't just about a facility. This is about what happened to them because Palo survived."
Calder nodded.
"Yes."
Palo's voice shook.
"I didn't know. I didn't remember."
The child reached up and gently touched the notebook, then placed their hand over Palo's heart.
A silent message:
You weren't supposed to remember alone.
Before Palo could speak, a faint hum vibrated through the hallway.
Lights flickered overhead.
Ash tensed immediately. "That's power. Someone just turned something on."
Calder's face drained of color. "There shouldn't be power here. Not after all these years."
The hum grew louder.
The child let go of Palo's hand and backed up, pulling his sleeve urgently.
Palo swallowed hard. "They want us to move."
A soft echo drifted from the far end of the hall—
a click.
Then another.
Like doors unlocking one by one.
Ash grabbed Palo's arm. "We're leaving. Now."
Calder nodded, fear etched across his face in a way Palo had never seen.
The child turned and began to run.
Palo followed.
Ash's footsteps thundered behind him.
The hum intensified.
And from the darkness behind them, a distant voice crackled through unseen speakers—
soft, distorted, almost soothing.
"Welcome back, Subjects. Initiation will begin shortly."
Palo didn't look back.
He ran.