Soph pushed her way through the crowd a little harder than necessary.
The music dimmed. Bass still rattled the frame, but out here it was muffled. The air was colder too, sharp in her lungs after the heat and sweat inside.
Damn boys.
Everywhere she'd turned in there it was the same thing: hands on her waist, voices asking if she was "okay" with that tone that meant something else, eyes dropping to her chest like gravity worked differently on her.
"I'm fine," she'd said. Over and over.
Three drinks. Four. She'd stopped counting. Her head should've been light by now, her cheeks flushed, the world pleasantly blurry.
Instead, everything was sharp.
Her thoughts moved cleanly. No warm fuzz at the edges. No familiar float. Just that same slow, heavy awareness of her body, like she was piloting a borrowed thing she hadn't finished reading the manual for.
Her heart beat wrong. Too slow. Ever since the trial.
Ever since him.
Soph checked her phone again.
No new messages.
Of course.
She thumbed open the chat anyway, staring at the last thing he'd sent days ago.
sorry, it's not you
I just need to focus on myself for a while
She snorted.
Then closed that chat and scrolled up.
Old Man
She'd met him after her first trial, back when she was still shaking and pale and waking up with her hands clutching sheets like they were the last solid thing in existence.
He was calm, blunt, practical.
No pity. Just structure. Explanations that didn't sound like nonsense.
She owed him for that.
But lately…
Lately his messages had been different.
Sharper around the edges. Less patient. More questions about her status. How much she'd changed. Whether anything "strange" had started happening with her body.
Her skin prickled with restless energy, like her blood was thicker than it should be and the city wasn't big enough to hold it.
She needed out.
Cold air bit into her face.
The door swung behind her. Just like that, the party became nothing but a muffled heartbeat above her.
The alley stretched out in front of her. Narrow. Damp. The kind of space that existed between real places, never meant to be seen for long. Brick walls rose on either side, sweating with moisture.
"This alley is creepy," she muttered.
Her breath smoked in front of her as she walked a little farther in, not quite to the middle. Her shoes made small scraping sounds on the uneven ground, echoing just enough to remind her she was alone.
You're not alone, the anchor whispered from the back of her mind.
She ignored it.
Her body felt heavy and weightless at the same time. Fingers steady around her phone, warmth pooling somewhere deep that never reached her face. She unlocked the screen and scrolled. Notifications blurred past. None of them the one she wanted.
See? she told herself. You're just sulking in an alley. That's all.
She typed a message to her best friend, then deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that too.
She sighed and locked the phone again.
"Old guy?" she called softly, voice carrying farther than she expected in the narrow space.
The word bounced back at her in a warped echo: guy… guy…
"It's just me," she added, in case he was worried this was some sort of ambush.
Silence stretched.
Soph wrapped her free arm tighter around her torso.
If he doesn't show, I'll just go home, she thought. Or get a kebab.
Footsteps scraped near the far end of the alley.
She tensed, shoulders locking for a second before she made them relax.
A shape detached itself from the deeper dark under the streetlamp and moved toward her.
She recognized his silhouette before his face.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wrapped in that same long coat he always wore, the one that made him look like he'd stepped out of a colder decade and never noticed the world had moved on.
"Old guy?" she asked again, softer this time. "That you?"
A low chuckle answered her.
"Still calling me that," he said. "Going to put that on my grave."
His face was unremarkable in the way that made it easier to remember. Fifty, maybe. Maybe older. Deep lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes, carved there by years that hadn't been kind. Hair threaded thoroughly with grey, cut close to his head. Nose a little crooked from some long-healed break.
But his eyes were the thing that never quite sat right with her.
Too sharp. Too clear. Tired down to the bone, but never dull. They missed nothing. When they landed on you, it felt like he was counting pieces.
Tonight, they skimmed over her in one sweep.
"You came alone," he said.
He always talked like that. Little phrases that felt like they belonged in a manual for surviving something she hadn't read.
"What's going on?" she asked. "You usually lecture over messages. Scary in-person meetings are new."
His mouth twitched, but his posture stayed unchanged. Shoulders relaxed. Weight evenly balanced between his feet. Hands out of his pockets, fingers loose at his sides.
Too loose.
"I wanted to see how you're holding up," he said.
Her anchor stirred.
She shifted her weight, suddenly aware of the distance between them. Not far. Not close. Just enough for either of them to cover with one step.
"I'm not rotting or craving brains, if that's what you're worried about," Soph said.
She thought back to that first trial. Labyrinthine corridors. Things that ate everything human but slipped past her like she was almost not worth it. Guards shooting at anything that still moved right.
She'd stumbled through, scared and furious and stubbornly alive.
Afterward, he'd found her in the support forums.
You're not dead, he'd said. If you want to stay that way, listen.
He'd explained mechanics the system refused to, taught her what not to touch unless you wanted to go insane.
She owed him.
That knowledge pressed against her ribs now like a bruise.
The alley felt smaller.
Colder.
The streetlamp flickered, light going thin for a second before returning.
Her motes tightened, sliding into heavier, slower orbits.
"Why here?" she asked. "If something's wrong with my status, why not meet… I don't know. Somewhere with chairs. And fewer rats."
He smiled faintly. It didn't reach his eyes.
"You trust me, don't you?" he asked.
She hesitated.
Careful.
"I'm here," she said. "That's something."
His gaze sharpened at that, as if she'd passed or failed a test he hadn't told her about.
Her anchor thrummed once, hard enough she almost flinched.
Danger.
She shifted one foot back half an inch. Just enough to make her stance harder to shove over without looking like she was preparing to run.
The old man noticed.
Of course he did.
"You're more aware of your body now," he observed. "Good. That will make this easier."
"Make what easier?" she asked.
He stepped closer.
Just one step.
It was enough to bring him into the full reach of the flickering light. The worn fabric of his coat brushed the outlines of his frame. She could see where it bulged slightly around his waist from whatever he kept tucked inside. Tools. Weapons. She'd never asked.
His eyes didn't leave her face.
Her breath caught.
"Old man," she said slowly, "you're freaking me out."
Something glinted in his hand.
She hadn't seen him move.