The tower doesn't smell like stone. It smells like paper that has learned how to breathe, a dry, ancient scent of stored knowledge and forgotten trees. The moment I cross the seam, the light thins and the sound of the world outside loses its edges, replaced by a deep, oppressive quiet.
My first step lands, and the floor solidifies under my boot, deciding to be a floor. The second step waits for me to commit my weight before it makes up its mind. I hold still and count a breath, the way Luna taught me. Four in. Six out.
Valeria settles in my bones, her presence calm and cool, a familiar weight in a room that feels fundamentally wrong. 'Inventory,' I tell myself. 'No bravado. Just the truth.'
