He doesn't remember deciding. He just runs.
Behind him Tovin is shouting something. Del doesn't hear it.
Emerges into the junction.
Other workers there. Staring toward Section D.
Dust cloud billowing from the entrance. Thick. Gray. Hanging in the damp air.
Workers stumbling out. Three of them. Coughing. Covered in dust.
One bleeding from the scalp. Blood mixing with the dust on their face.
Three adults.
No child.
Del stands there. Heart pounding. Can feel it in his throat.
Hadric appears. "Casualties?"
The bleeding man: "Four dead. Maybe more. Back section collapsed completely."
"Names?"
Adult names. Workers Del doesn't know.
No child's name.
But the child wouldn't have given a name.
"Section's unstable," Hadric says. "Mark it. No retrieval."
No retrieval.
Del moves.
Toward the entrance. Toward the dust.
"Del." Hadric's voice. Sharp. "Stop."
Del doesn't stop.
Four steps before hands grab him. Multiple people. Strong grips.
"It's still coming down," someone says.
Del pulls against them. "There's a kid in there."
"They're gone. Back section. No one's coming out."
"Let me—" Del twists. Breaks one grip.
A fist hits his stomach. Hard.
Del doubles over. Can't breathe.
But keeps moving. Forward. Toward the entrance.
Another hit. Ribs. He stumbles.
More hands. Someone grabs his hair. Yanks his head back.
Del's foot catches. He goes down. Knee hitting stone. Something tears.
They're on him. Three people. Maybe four. Weight. Hands holding him down.
"Stop," Hadric says. "That's an order."
Del keeps trying. Dragging himself forward. Fingers clawing at wet stone. Getting nowhere.
Someone kicks his arm. Warning.
He keeps moving.
Another kick. Harder. His shoulder.
Del stops. Face pressed against stone. Breathing hard. Tasting blood.
They hold him. Making sure.
Then slowly let go.
"You done?" Hadric asks.
Del doesn't answer. Pushes himself up. Knee bleeding. Ribs aching. Shoulder throbbing.
The entrance is right there. Ten feet.
"Get back to B," Hadric says. "Finish the job."
Del stands there. Looking at the entrance.
He moves.
Fast. Before they can react.
Runs toward the entrance.
Makes it five feet inside before hands catch him.
But he saw.
In the dust. In the dark.
The passage slopes down. Rubble everywhere. Ceiling half-collapsed.
And deeper—maybe twenty feet in—a gap. Small. Between fallen stones.
Something pale visible through it.
A hand.
Too small to be an adult's.
Palm up. Fingers slightly curled. Like reaching for something.
The rubble around it settled. Compressed. Edges worn smooth. Dust already coating everything.
Not fresh.
They drag him back. Out. Into the junction.
Someone hits him. Jaw. Hard. His head snaps.
Del tastes blood. Lip split. Swelling.
They throw him toward Section B. He staggers. Catches himself on the wall.
"Next time you don't get up," Hadric says. Flat. Matter-of-fact.
Del turns. Looks at Section D one more time.
Dark. Still.
Twenty feet in. A gap. A hand.
He turns away. Walks back to Section B.
Each step hurts. Knee bleeding. Jaw throbbing. Ribs aching. Shoulder wrong.
---
Tovin is waiting. Looks at Del's face. The blood. The swelling.
Doesn't say anything.
Picks up the dropped artifact. Checks it. Still intact. Bags it.
They finish B in silence. Move to C. Work mechanically.
Return to the warehouse.
Hadric posts the body count.
"Section D collapse: four confirmed dead, two injured."
No child listed.
Just: gone.
---
That night the rain starts again. Harder. Steady drumming.
Del sits in his sleeping corner. Ribs hurt when he breathes. Jaw swelling. Knee won't stop bleeding.
The spot where the child slept is empty. Wet stone. Puddle forming.
After a while Del moves closer. Knee protesting.
Crouches near where the child used to curl up.
Stone worn smooth. Lots of people have slept here.
Now: just wet stone.
Del looks closer.
Small object. Wedged between stones. Hidden in the gap.
He reaches in. Fingers cold. Pulls it out.
Flat rock. Size of his palm. Smooth on one side. Wet.
He wipes it on his shirt. Soaked. Doesn't help much.
Scratches on the smooth surface. Deliberate. Carved with something sharp.
Tally marks. Four vertical lines. Diagonal slash. Three more vertical.
Eight days.
Del stares at it. Turns it over.
More scratches. Different.
Three attempts. Clumsy. Shaky. Wrong shapes.
Letters. Trying to be letters.
Del sits there. Water dripping. Rock cold in his hands.
He remembers. The old woman teaching the girl to write. Days ago. Making marks on stone.
The child must have seen. Tried to copy.
Didn't know how. Just: knew it mattered.
Eight days counting. Three attempts at writing.
His throat is tight.
*They were trying.*
Eight days of marking time. Trying to learn letters. Trying to be something more than just another body waiting to die.
And then walked toward Section D anyway.
Like they couldn't help it.
Del pockets the rock. Feels its weight next to the metal chunk and knife.
Three objects. Three people. Three weights.
He lies down. Stone freezing and wet. Ribs ache. Jaw throbs. Knee stings.
Can't sleep.
Just lies there. Hand in pocket. Touching the rock. Feeling the marks.
His mind goes back.
Twenty feet in. The gap. The hand.
Palm up. Fingers curled.
The rubble wasn't fresh. Edges smooth. Worn. Dust settled.
Like the gap had been there before.
Like someone crawled into it.
*Why?*
The child walked toward D without hesitating. Knew where they were going.
Found the gap. Crawled in. Reached for something.
And then—
Del's eyes open in the dark.
*Children don't do that.*
Don't walk into danger with certainty. Don't crawl into gaps in unstable rubble. Don't reach for something in the dark.
Unless—
*Unless artifact exposure does things. Changes people. Makes them do things that don't make sense.*
Del has seen it before. Workers walking toward active artifacts. Compelled. Unable to stop themselves even when they know it will kill them.
*Was that it?*
The child getting closer to artifacts every day. Following Del who works with them constantly. Sitting outside Section B while he worked inside. Getting exposed bit by bit.
And then—what? The exposure built up? Changed something? Made them walk toward D?
Made them crawl into a gap looking for something that wasn't there?
Del doesn't know.
Can't know.
Just: the hand in the rubble. The eight tally marks. The three attempts at letters.
Trying to stay human while something pulled them toward the dark.
He closes his eyes. Touching the rock. Feeling the scratches.
The rain keeps falling.
Somewhere someone is coughing. Wet. Rattling.
Goes on for ten minutes.
Stops.
Del doesn't know if they recovered or died.
Hours pass.
Gray light.
Dawn.
---
Del stands. Everything hurts.
I thought I was so smart. Experimenting with water, planning to sell it, get rich, get out of this place. Move up.
But I'm losing myself.
Drinks water. Eats damp bread. Tastes like mold.
Hand finds the rock. Eight marks. Three attempts.
Would the old me have done this? Who is the old me?
Heads to meeting point.
Rain slowed to drizzle.
Hadric's crew gathers. Same faces. Tired. Wet. Worn.
Tovin sees him. Sees the swelling. The careful movement. The blood showing through his pants.
Doesn't mention it.
"You seen the little one? Used to follow you around."
Del's chest tightens. "Dead. Section D."
"Ah." Tovin nods. Face neutral. "Figured. They always go quick."
They always go quick.
Oh.
Del looks at him. At the other crew members. At Hadric. At workers moving through ruins.
Del scans the crowd.
Children—a few. Scattered. Following adults. Huddled in corners.
Adults—many. Scarred. Worn. Surviving.
Nothing between.
No teenagers. No young adults.
Just: children and adults. Gap in the middle. Empty space where growing up should be.
Movement.
The woman with brown eyes. Near the warehouse. The man is with her but standing apart. Talking to someone.
She's looking at Del.
At his jaw. The swelling. The way he's moving.
Then at the empty space where the child used to stand.
Back to Del.
She doesn't say anything.
Just: looks.
Witness.
Then turns away. The man notices. Moves back to her. Hand on her arm. Whispers something.
She doesn't pull away.
"You good?" Tovin asks.
Del looks at him. "Yeah."
"You're with Ren today. Section G and H."
Del nods.
Works. Checks artifacts. Identifies safe ones. Hands shake after the fourth—red glow, irregular pulse—but he identifies it correctly. No one touches it.
No casualties today.
Returns for rations. Eats. Bread is damp.
That night can't sleep.
Just lies there. Feeling the marks.
Eight days. Three attempts.
A hand palm up in settled rubble.
They were resisting.
And something pulled them anyway.
The rain keeps tapping at uneven ground.
Dawn comes.