Merlin didn't move. Didn't breathe. Didn't even shift his weight. The door creaked open the rest of the way on its own, the faintest whisper of air curling out from the dark room beyond. Not cold, not warm—just wrong, like temperature itself hesitated to exist inside.
He kept his voice level. "If you wanted to kill me, you would've done it outside."
Silence answered.
Not empty silence—aware silence, like the kind that forms when something is listening for the shape of your thoughts instead of your voice.
Merlin stepped forward slowly, ignoring the instinct that told him he was walking directly into a predator's mouth. He crossed the threshold.
The moment both feet entered the room, the door closed behind him with a soft, polite click.
