Sleep dodged her the way rain dodges cracks. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the gate breathing under the city, the rings turning, the moment Mr. Hale said she isn't ready.
By morning her nerves buzzed like they'd been wired to the building.
She almost didn't go to work. Almost. But staying home wouldn't undo what she'd seen. And there was something else under her fear now. Curiosity had teeth. It kept pushing her back toward the place that shouldn't exist.
The lobby felt different when she walked in. Not louder. Not busier. Just aware. As if every wall remembered yesterday and was waiting to see what she would do next.
She smoothed her shirt, took the elevator, and tried not to think about anything beneath her feet.
The receptionist greeted her like usual. Bright smile. Careful eyes.
"Morning."
"Morning."
A pause hung between them. The receptionist tapped the desk rhythmically, as if debating something.
Then: "Mr. Hale wants to see you before you start."
Her breath thinned. "Did he say why?"
"Just said come up. He's already waiting."
No escape, then.
She made the slow ride to the top floor. The doors opened to quiet marble and a skyline that swallowed the horizon. Mr. Hale stood near the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled, like someone who worked more than he slept.
"Close the door," he said gently.
She did.
He didn't start with questions. He watched the city for another few seconds, then turned. His gaze didn't accuse. It measured.
"You found the stairs," he said.
There was no point pretending. "Yes."
"And you opened the gate."
A nod. He didn't raise his voice. Didn't threaten. Somehow that scared her more.
"I didn't touch the sealed one," she said quickly. "I just… looked."
"That was the right choice." He studied her for another long moment, then motioned toward a chair. "Sit."
She sat. Her fingers knotted in her lap.
He came around the desk and leaned on the edge instead of sitting behind it, closing the distance like he wanted to have a real conversation instead of a company meeting.
"This building was not placed here by accident," he said. "Before it was a corporate tower, it was a site. Before it was a site, it was a boundary. The gate below predates all of us by centuries. The sealed door far beyond it predates language. The people who designed those lower levels weren't building a basement. They were building a lock."
"On what?" she whispered.
He hesitated. His eyes softened. "On something that understands what we love and uses it."
Her stomach dropped.
"And the messages…" she said. "On my phone. Was that you?"
He shook his head. "If it had been me, you'd have listened."
It wasn't arrogance. It was certainty.
"Then who?" she asked.
"That is the question we're all very interested in."
Before she could respond, the intercom crackled. The receptionist's voice carried through.
"Sir? Your ten o'clock arrived early."
He straightened like a secret snapping shut. "We'll continue this later. For now, pretend you don't know. Pretend everything is normal. There is safety in routine."
She stood. "That's not really my thing."
His mouth curved, almost amused. "I know."
As she reached the door, he added, "Take your lunch on the roof today. The view helps."
She almost laughed. The view wasn't what needed help. But she nodded, unsure if it was a suggestion or an instruction.
Work passed in quick little bursts, the way time moves when your brain is somewhere else entirely. At lunch she considered ignoring the roof advice, then rolled her eyes at herself and took the elevator up.
Wind caught her first. Warm. Clean. The city stretched in layered noise below. Cars like ants. People like dots. A horizon that looked like it promised a future if you stared long enough.
Someone else was there.
A guy leaned against the railing, headphones around his neck, hair messy in the kind of way that either takes effort or none at all. He glanced over with half a smile that wasn't practiced.
"Didn't think anyone else actually came up here," he said.
"Apparently we do now."
He scooted slightly aside, giving space without making a thing out of it. "You're new."
"And you notice everything?"
"Only the people who look like they're thinking too loud."
Her laugh surprised her. "That obvious?"
He nodded toward the skyline. "The roof's good for pretending things are small. Problems feel different from up here."
She joined him at the railing. For a minute they just stood, listening to the layered sounds of the city.
"I'm Eli," he said.
She gave her name.
He repeated it softly, almost testing the shape of it. "You work in Hale's department?"
"Apparently."
"Dangerous place to be."
She stiffened. "What does that mean?"
He shrugged, but his gaze had shifted, more careful now. "Every department thinks they matter. His actually does."
He said it like a joke that wasn't one.
They ate quietly after that. The wind tugged at napkins and hair and everything that wasn't tied down. When she finished, she leaned back again, letting her mind drift.
Below her, somewhere deep beneath concrete and steel and elevators, was a gate that breathed. A sealed door pulsing with symbols. A boss who talked like a guardian. And now a stranger who looked at her like he suspected she was already involved in something she hadn't agreed to.
"Do you believe in curses?" she asked suddenly.
Eli considered. "I believe some things cling."
"Cling?"
"To families. To buildings. To choices."
He met her eyes. "Why?"
She almost told him. The words reached her tongue and stalled. Something warned her. Not that he was dangerous. Just that once she said it out loud, none of it could be undone.
"Just curious," she said.
He didn't push. Instead, he pointed to a helicopter slicing across the sky. "Look. Even expensive people are stuck in traffic."
The joke cracked the heaviness. She smiled.
The rest of her shift slid by, quieter but edged with that same eerie awareness. Near closing, she passed the stairwell and felt the faintest breath of cold seep under the door. Not enough to chill. Enough to remind.
That night, she dreamed she was standing before the stone gate. The carvings glowed brighter. A soft pulse beat through the air, matching her heart until she couldn't tell which belonged to who.
A voice murmured behind the door. Not a language. A feeling.
Come.
She woke with tears on her cheeks and couldn't explain any of it.
The next day brought new tasks and new eyes watching from hallways. People whispered when she walked by, not like gossip, more like curiosity with a nervous edge. Mr. Hale barely looked up when she delivered a report, but she felt his attention trail after her anyway.
At lunch she went back to the roof.
Eli was there again.
"You followed instructions," he said lightly.
"More like habits."
They talked about nothing. Favorite food. Worst bus rides. The way city nights press against windows like living things. His stories were simple but the way he told them hooked easily. Somewhere in between jokes, their shoulders brushed, and neither of them moved away.
He glanced at her. "You don't scare easy, do you?"
"I do," she admitted. "I'm just stubborn."
He smiled. "Stubborn people get chosen a lot."
By what remained unanswered.
In the afternoon, Mr. Hale sent her an email with a single line.
Conference room B. Seven.
Seven was after official hours. The building would be half empty by then. The idea of staying made her stomach flutter, but leaving felt impossible.
The room was dim when she arrived. Only one overhead light burned, casting a sharp pool across the table. Mr. Hale wasn't alone.
An older woman sat beside him, silver hair pulled tight, eyes sharp as needles. A man in a dark suit stood by the monitor, hands clasped. And behind them, the receptionist, suddenly not playing receptionist at all.
Mr. Hale gestured. "Sit."
She did.
The older woman spoke first. "We're not bringing you into this because you asked. We're bringing you because the gate responded to you."
The words hit harder than any accusation.
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"It means," the woman said calmly, "that whether you want it or not, you're now part of the system that keeps it sealed."
The man in the suit tapped the monitor. A map appeared. Not of the building. Of the city, with circles marked out from the center like ripples.
"Whatever sleeps down there presses outward," he said. "When the pressure spikes, accidents happen. Violence. People disappear. We measure it. We contain it."
"And me?" she said.
Mr. Hale answered. "You focus it."
Her chest tightened. "I don't even know what it is."
"That's the only reason you still feel safe," he said, voice quiet.
Silence thickened.
"You will not go downstairs alone again," the older woman continued. "If the plate warms for you, it will warm for others. That cannot happen."
"Then seal it permanently," she snapped.
They exchanged a look.
"We've tried," the man said.
Her gaze slipped from face to face. Suddenly the office lights, the smiling coworkers, the neat schedules all felt like camouflage painted over something ancient and patient.
"Why me?" she whispered.
No one answered right away.
Finally, Mr. Hale said, "Because sometimes the gate chooses back."
Her pulse fluttered. Memory flickered. The warmth under her palm. The sense of being recognized in the dark.
She stood abruptly, the chair nudging the carpet. "I need air."
He didn't stop her.
She walked the hallway like a ghost and went straight to the roof. Night had draped the city in neon and shadow. Wind whipped, colder now, tugging her hair across her face.
"Hey."
Eli stepped from behind one of the big vents. He had that easy posture again, but the second he saw her expression, his smile faded.
"What happened?"
She didn't trust words. Instead, she crossed to the railing and stared down at the grid of light. A tremor shook through her hands. Eli stood beside her without touching, close enough to borrow steadiness from.
"You ever feel like your life was already written," she said quietly, "and you just showed up late to read it?"
He considered. "Maybe. But I don't believe in stories that trap. I believe in ones that test."
The wind swelled. Somewhere below, traffic blared like distant heartbeats. She swallowed.
"There's something under this building," she said finally. "And it knows me."
Eli didn't laugh. Didn't call her dramatic. He just nodded, eyes thoughtful.
"I figured," he said.
Her head snapped toward him. "What?"
He looked at the city again. "This place… hums. Been humming since I started. And then you walked in, and it changed key."
She stared, heart racing. "Who are you?"
His answer was soft. "Someone they should have told you about sooner."
The rooftop lights flickered.
Far beneath, unseen, the sealed gate pulsed once and stilled, like a creature tasting the air.
And for the first time, she realized the building wasn't waiting anymore.
It was preparing.