The darkness inside the observation room felt alive.
Palo held his breath as faint footsteps echoed down the hallway outside—light, uneven, and strangely unhurried, as if whoever was out there already knew they had been found.
Ash's hand hovered protectively close to Palo's shoulder, not touching him, but ready. His body was tense, every muscle coiled.
"Ash…" Palo whispered, barely audible.
Ash leaned closer, voice low and steady.
"I'm right here. Don't move."
Calder stood a few steps away, listening with a stillness that felt practiced, almost clinical.
The footsteps paused just outside the door.
The air thickened.
Palo's heartbeat thudded in his ears.
Then—
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Three soft taps.
Ash exhaled sharply through his nose. "They're not trying to hide."
Calder whispered, "They want attention."
Palo felt a cold tremor run up his spine.
"Who… exactly is out there?"
Calder hesitated. When he finally answered, his voice was quiet and steady.
"The children who never left this place didn't vanish. They stayed hidden in the deeper sections of the facility. With time, isolation changes people. Fear changes them. They became… extremely territorial."
Palo blinked. "Territorial how?"
"Defensive," Calder clarified. "Wary. Suspicious of anyone who enters. Like animals that learned to survive in a place that wasn't made for them."
Ash narrowed his eyes at the door. "You're saying they're dangerous?"
"Not intentionally," Calder said. "But they're unpredictable. They don't trust outsiders."
Ash stepped slightly in front of Palo. "Then we're not opening the door."
But the doorknob turned.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Ash stiffened. "Palo—move back."
Palo obeyed, heart hammering, retreating until he nearly bumped into the observation window.
A narrow creak as the door pushed open.
The hand that appeared first wasn't monstrous or strange. It was small.
Human.
A child's hand.
Palo's breath hitched as a silhouette stepped into the dim room—a figure no older than twelve or thirteen, thin, with tangled hair and clothes far too big for their fragile frame.
The child stood silently in the doorway, watching them with wide, dark eyes. Observant eyes. Intelligent eyes.
Ash lowered his stance slightly—not relaxed, but cautious.
"Hey," he whispered softly. "We're not here to hurt you."
The child tilted their head.
Then slowly raised a hand and pointed at Palo.
Palo flinched.
"Why… me?"
Calder stepped forward carefully. "Because they remember you."
Ash shot him a glare. "You said Palo was younger when he escaped."
"Even so," Calder whispered, "he wasn't forgotten."
The child took a halting step into the room. Their expression wasn't angry… it was curious.
Almost hopeful.
Then they lifted something from behind their back:
A drawing.
A sheet of old paper, edges curled and stained with time. The lines were rough but unmistakable—towers and repeating patterns, swirling shapes that Palo had drawn since childhood without understanding why.
Palo's voice cracked.
"That's… mine."
The child nodded.
Ash whispered, "They kept it."
Calder exhaled slowly. "They must have treasured it."
Palo felt a lump form in his throat.
"Why would they do that?"
The child took another step toward him, offering the drawing like an offering, like a message pulled out of the past.
Palo hesitated, then gently accepted it.
The moment his fingers touched the paper—
A flash.
Not painful. Not overwhelming.
Just a brief, sharp memory.
A small room.
Soft whispering voices.
Hands gently guiding his toward charcoal sticks.
A teenager saying, "If you see it, draw it. Even if we don't understand."
Then darkness again.
Palo's breath trembled as he returned to the present.
Ash touched his arm. "What did you see?"
"I… think they used to help me draw."
The child nodded quickly—too quickly—eyes bright with a desperate kind of recognition.
Calder spoke softly. "You were important to them. They weren't protecting you because you were weak. They were protecting you because you were the one who could see what they couldn't."
Palo's grip tightened on the drawing.
"The map."
Ash's eyes snapped to him. "The building's design?"
Palo shook his head slowly.
"No. Not just the building."
The child nodded again, then turned to the wall behind them and reached out with trembling hands.
They pressed on a cracked panel.
A faint mechanical click sounded.
And a hidden door—one none of them had noticed—slid open with a whisper of stale air.
Behind it lay a dark hallway leading deeper underground.
Calder inhaled sharply. "This wasn't on any of the facility's blueprints."
Ash frowned. "So how did they know about it?"
Palo looked at the child.
The child pointed at the drawing in Palo's hand.
As if saying:
You knew. You've always known.
Palo swallowed hard.
"Ash," he whispered, "I think this is where the real part of the facility is."
Ash nodded, jaw set.
"Then we're going together."
Calder glanced at the child. "You can't come with us. It's dangerous."
But the child stepped closer to Palo, shaking their head firmly.
Palo understood.
"They want to guide us."
Ash inhaled slowly. "Palo… are you sure?"
Palo looked at the small, brave figure before them.
"Yes," he whispered. "I trust them."
The child reached out and took Palo's sleeve gently, tugging him toward the hidden corridor.
Palo stepped forward.
Ash followed immediately.
Calder took one last look at the observation room, then the hidden passage.
Then he whispered:
"I never wanted to see this place again."
And together, the four of them descended into the darkness beneath the abandoned sector—
toward the truth waiting below.
---