They climbed the final stretch in silence. The air here was pristine, filtered, and cold.
They reached the top of the shaft. Noah pushed open a decorative brass grate. They crawled out onto a thick, white carpet.
They were in a hallway. But not a hallway in a palace. It looked... normal. It looked like the hallway of a suburban house, painted a soft cream color.
At the end of the hall was a single door. It was painted white, with a golden handle.
"The Penthouse," Mittens whispered. He wouldn't go any further. He stayed by the grate. "This is your territory, Noah. I don't belong here."
Noah stood up. He brushed the dust and soot from his jumpsuit, though it was hopeless. He looked like a wreck. A wild man.
He walked toward the door. His heart was beating so hard it hurt his ribs.
She's in there, he told himself. The Little One. Katy. She's waiting for her bow.
He reached the door. He put his hand on the golden knob. It was cold.
He turned it. The door was unlocked.
He pushed it open.
"Katy?" he called out, his voice cracking.
The room inside was not a prison cell. It was a nursery.
It was painted yellow. There were clouds on the ceiling. There was a crib in the corner. A rocking chair.
But it was empty.
Completely, utterly empty.
There was no furniture other than the crib. No toys. No little girl.
Just a hospital bed in the center of the room, made up with crisp white sheets. And sitting on the pillow of the bed, looking small and lonely, was a stuffed animal.
A little grey cat with one ear.
Noah walked into the room. The silence was deafening. He walked to the bed. He picked up the stuffed cat.
It was old. Worn. He recognized the stitching.
"Mr. Whiskers," Noah whispered.
He looked at the stuffed cat. Then he looked back at the grate where Mittens had been.
There was no grate. There was no Mittens.
There was just the stuffed cat in his hand.
And then, from the shadows of the corner, a figure stepped out.
It wasn't a cat. It was a man. A man in a white coat, holding a clipboard. He had kindly eyes behind thick glasses.
"Hello, Noah," the man said softly. "You've climbed a very long way."
Noah clutched the stuffed cat and the polka-dot bow. He backed away. "Where is she? Where is Mr. Purr-sident?"
The man sighed, tapping his clipboard. "I think you know, Noah. I think you've always known."
The walls of the nursery began to flicker. The yellow paint peeled away to reveal grey concrete.
"No," Noah whispered, the Stone in his pocket burning against his skin. "No, I'm not done. I have the items. I have the bow!"
"The bow is real, Noah," the doctor said. "But the girl... the girl has been gone for a long time."
Noah screamed. He didn't scream a word. He just screamed.
And then the Dobermans—no, the orderlies—rushed into the room.