The eighth step, he thought, he had passed it.
He had descended deeper into the prison labyrinth, believing he had conquered that silent threshold, but now he understood that the eighth was no obstacle. It was a lull, a veil, a test of vigilance disguised as peace.
It offered no pain, no illusion, no distortion of reality—and that was precisely its danger, in its stillness, Jonan had lowered his guard, let relief cradle him like a child, and stumbled blindly into the jaws of the ninth step.
This failure gnawed at him, not as shame, but as a revelation, he did not need strength, he needed discipline, not merely of the body, but of thought, of awareness, so he began again.
