Steam curled up from the bath, fogging the edges of the mirror and blurring the brass fixtures into soft shapes. Lucas lay back against the cool porcelain, shoulders sliding a little deeper beneath the water until it lapped at his collarbones. The binder sat on the closed toilet lid within reach, a pale grey block against the white tile. He hadn't opened it yet.
He stared at the ceiling while the heat seeped into his muscles. The sound of the water moving around him was steady, almost hypnotic, but his mind kept circling back to the photocopied pages. Would reading them help him understand what he was, or just make the noise in his head louder? Would it give him a map or another labyrinth?
