The passage narrowed again. Subtle. Enough that I adjusted without noticing. Shoulders brushed the walls. Posture corrected. Awareness sharpened.
Soft voices floated ahead.
"I didn't mean to."
"I'll do better."
"It's okay."
The room opened. Furniture too low, too high. Walls slightly tilted. Light gathered near the floor. Small bodies moved carefully.
They were children. Not uniform. Each adapting to the space as though it remembered absence.
No adult watched. No instruction came. They organized themselves. Anticipated each other. Adjusted when someone misstepped.
I stayed at the threshold. The space did not fit me. My height drew attention I didn't offer. One small figure noticed me and stiffened. Relaxed when I remained still.
They spoke softly, deliberately.
"We're good."
"It keeps things safe."
Their language was a map, not comfort.
I lowered myself onto a small bench. They shifted. Space cleared around me, just enough to exist without intrusion.
No one asked who I was. Identity didn't matter. Function did. Presence, acknowledged and tolerated, was enough.
I stood eventually. Slowly. The passage widened. My body resisted, then remembered its shape.
Behind me, their voices persisted. Quiet, precise. No help given. None offered.
Both omissions felt intentional.
I moved on.