Tukhee stopped before reaching the last step.
He remained there for several seconds, one foot suspended, his gaze fixed on the corridor opening ahead. The wall lamp cast an unstable yellow light that only reached part of the floor. Beyond that, darkness reclaimed the space, compact and without depth. Nothing moved. Nothing waited openly. Yet something was wrong.
He finally set his foot down. The cold of the stone rose immediately through his leg. He waited. One second. Then two. No sound. No shift. His body, however, stayed tense.
Behind him, Dekhio let out a quiet breath.
He never raised his voice in places like this. Not out of fear, but habit. Closed spaces followed their own logic, and speaking louder had never improved any outcome.
"You stopped again," he said quietly. "We are past the unstable sector. The report was clear. The corridor is supposed to be safe."
Tukhee did not turn around at once. He scanned the space slowly, registering the irregular cracks in the walls, the dark streaks at shoulder height, the marks left by old equipment dragged through here long ago. Nothing abnormal on its own. Together, it failed to form a coherent whole.
"The report is three days old," he said at last. "And the signal has not weakened."
Dekhio stepped closer, stopping beside him. He instinctively respected the distance Tukhee always kept when something felt wrong. They had worked together long enough to recognize that sign.
"Minor anomalies sometimes take time to fade," Dekhio replied. "This is not the first time."
"It is not the duration that bothers me."
"Then what?"
Tukhee inhaled slowly. He had already shaped the answer in his mind, but saying it aloud would give it weight, and he preferred to delay that.
"It is the inertia," he said. "This one is not degrading. It stays open."
Dekhio frowned slightly. Not out of confusion, but because the statement did not fit any known category.
"You mean it is stable?"
"No. Stable implies balance. This is different. It is as if the closing process was interrupted."
They exchanged a brief look. Neither of them smiled.
They were not meant to be here. The assignment should have gone to a more experienced team. No one had taken it. The sector was old, unprofitable, too far from active zones. The signal had remained. With it, an unresolved situation.
Tukhee took another step forward. The ground did not give way, but he felt a faint resistance, barely noticeable, like the air itself offering subtle opposition. He stopped immediately.
"You felt that too?" Dekhio asked.
"Yes."
They stood still, listening to a silence that did not truly belong to them. There was no mechanical noise, no vibration, no distant echo. Yet the place felt full of a muted expectancy.
"We can still turn back," Dekhio said. "Log that the anomaly is still active and request higher intervention."
Tukhee shook his head.
"If we leave now, we leave it exactly as it is. And it will not close on its own."
"You do not know that."
"Exactly. That is the problem."
They reached the junction. To the left, a narrow tunnel partially collapsed led into an unused area. To the right, a wider passage sank into darkness. The signal clearly came from there.
Without further discussion, they turned right.
The floor dipped slightly under their steps. Not enough to be dangerous, but enough to require constant adjustment. Tukhee walked slowly, measuring each movement. Behind him, Dekhio matched his pace without effort. They had developed that coordination over time, without ever addressing it.
The tunnel opened into a circular chamber. An old maintenance station, judging by the rusted rails and the severed cables hanging from the ceiling. The space was larger than expected. Too large. And, more importantly, strangely clean.
Tukhee stopped at once.
"There," he said.
Dekhio followed his gaze.
"I see nothing."
"Neither do I."
They advanced carefully toward the center. With each step, the sensation intensified. A diffuse pressure, neither painful nor localized, settling slowly in the chest, like a presence refusing to fully manifest.
"It feels like something already happened here," Dekhio murmured, "and we arrived too late."
"Or too early," Tukhee replied.
They stopped two meters from the center. The ground was intact. No cracks. No impact marks. Yet Tukhee was certain an event should have taken place here. And it had not.
"These situations never stay open," Dekhio said. "Not this long."
"I know."
Tukhee crouched and placed his hand on the stone. It was cold and ordinary. When he withdrew his hand, the sensation remained. It no longer came from the floor.
"This involves us," he said calmly.
Dekhio straightened immediately.
"Explain."
"I think this situation refuses to close as long as I am here."
There was no immediate reaction. No laughter. No denial. Dekhio simply looked at him, evaluating the idea as one possibility among others.
"You say that because you still feel it on you," he said.
"Yes."
"And if we make you leave?"
Tukhee shook his head.
"I already tried to step back. It follows."
They fell silent. The pressure did not lessen. It settled, slowly, as if acknowledging their presence.
"We cannot stay here indefinitely," Dekhio said.
"No."
"Then what do we do?"
Tukhee inhaled deeply. He disliked the answer forming in his mind, but he saw no alternative.
"I will force a resolution."
"You want to provoke the missing event?"
"I want to see what happens if I go all the way."
Dekhio clenched his jaw.
"And if it goes wrong?"
"It already has."
Tukhee took a step forward. The pressure increased immediately. The air seemed to vibrate faintly. The cables overhead swayed, just enough to be noticeable.
"Tukhee," Dekhio warned.
He took a second step.
Heat spread through his chest. Not a burn. A persistent presence, almost familiar. It felt as if something was trying to latch on, to settle.
He reached the center of the room.
For a fraction of a second, the world hesitated. Tukhee felt clearly that the situation was on the verge of closing. That an ending was possible.
Then nothing happened.
The pressure remained.
"This is wrong," Dekhio said, his voice tight.
"Yes."
Tukhee stepped back. Then another step. The sensation did not diminish.
"It marked you," Dekhio stated.
"Yes."
They left the chamber without running, but without delay. The tunnel felt narrower than before, or perhaps their perception had shifted.
When they reached the stairway leading up, Tukhee still hoped the sensation would fade. It did not.
He stopped at the threshold.
"What is it?" Dekhio asked.
Tukhee looked ahead. Everything appeared normal. The corridor. The exit. The light. Yet he knew.
"It is no longer the place," he said.
"Then what?"
Tukhee swallowed.
"It is me."
Dekhio studied him for a few seconds, then nodded.
"Then we will deal with it."
Tukhee knew, at that precise moment, that a door had closed. Not behind him. Ahead. And that what remained open would not close without consequence.
They did not speak as they climbed.
The stairwell was narrow and uneven, carved directly into the rock. Tukhee kept his hand close to the wall, not to steady himself, but to confirm that the sensation was still there. It was. Constant. Neither growing nor fading. Simply present.
By the time they reached the upper corridor, his breathing had stabilized, but the pressure in his chest had not changed. It no longer felt like an external influence. It felt internal, anchored.
Dekhio slowed his pace when he noticed Tukhee lagging behind.
"You are not limping," he said. "So what is it?"
Tukhee considered lying. Not out of fear, but out of habit. He had learned long ago that naming a problem often made it harder to contain. This time, he did not bother.
"It feels like something unfinished attached itself to me," he said. "Not physically. More like a condition."
Dekhio nodded slowly.
"That is vague."
"It is all I have."
They stepped into the main access hall. The ambient lights hummed softly. The space was familiar. Too familiar. Tukhee had passed through this corridor dozens of times before. Usually, reaching it brought relief. Today, it did not.
He paused again.
Dekhio noticed immediately.
"It followed you up," he said.
"Yes."
They stood near the wall, letting a pair of technicians pass without comment. No one looked at them twice. No alarms sounded. No system reacted. Whatever had attached itself to Tukhee did not announce its presence.
That made it worse.
"Report it," Dekhio said after a moment. "We do not handle things like this on our own."
"I know."
Tukhee accessed his interface and began drafting a preliminary report. He kept the wording neutral, factual. Location. Duration. Observed persistence. Lack of decay. He omitted the sensation in his chest at first, then added it back in after deleting the sentence twice.
When he finished, he hesitated before sending it.
"Something is wrong with the framing," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"The report assumes the anomaly exists independently," Tukhee replied. "But what if it does not anymore?"
Dekhio frowned.
"You think it transferred?"
"I think it relocated."
"Into you."
"Yes."
Dekhio was silent for several seconds.
"That makes you part of the situation," he said at last.
"That is exactly the problem."
They moved to an empty side chamber and sat down. Tukhee pressed his back against the cold surface of the wall. The pressure in his chest responded, not with pain, but with a subtle tightening, as if acknowledging the contact.
He closed his eyes briefly. The sensation did not vanish. It did not spike. It remained unchanged, indifferent to his attention.
"This should not be possible," Dekhio said quietly. "Situations close. Events resolve. Even the worst ones decay eventually."
"Unless something prevents that," Tukhee replied.
"Or someone."
Tukhee opened his eyes.
"You think this is about me."
"I think it is reacting to you," Dekhio corrected. "That is not the same thing."
Tukhee leaned his head back against the wall.
"I did nothing," he said. "I did not activate anything. I did not interfere with a process. I just stood there."
"That might be enough."
The idea settled between them. Uncomfortable. Heavy.
"If that is true," Dekhio continued, "then this will not be the last time."
"No."
"And next time, it might not be contained in an abandoned sector."
Tukhee did not answer.
A notification blinked briefly in his peripheral vision. He ignored it at first, assuming it was an acknowledgment of the report. When it appeared again, unchanged, he focused on it.
The interface hesitated before responding. Not freezing. Not malfunctioning. Hesitating.
That alone was abnormal.
Dekhio noticed his expression change.
"What is it?"
"I am not sure," Tukhee said. "The system is… delayed."
He attempted to access the same panel again. The response lagged by a fraction of a second longer than before.
Then text appeared.
Not an error message. Not a warning.
A status.
Tukhee stared at it, unblinking.
"What do you see?" Dekhio asked.
Tukhee swallowed.
"A condition," he said. "Not an alert. Not a diagnosis."
He read it again to make sure.
Active state: unresolved.
Dekhio leaned closer.
"That is not a standard classification."
"No."
"Does it say what it refers to?"
Tukhee shook his head.
"It does not specify."
He closed the interface and reopened it. The text remained.
Active state: unresolved.
No timer. No decay indicator. No escalation protocol.
Just that.
"This is not how things are labeled," Dekhio said. "States like this are transitional."
"Then why is it still there?"
Neither of them answered.
A second line appeared beneath the first.
Resolution required.
Tukhee exhaled slowly.
"That confirms it," he said.
"Confirms what?"
"This is not going to fix itself."
Dekhio studied the text for a long moment.
"Then you are going to be forced to act," he said. "Whether you want to or not."
"Yes."
"And if you do not?"
Tukhee closed the interface.
"Then this stays open."
They sat in silence.
Around them, the facility continued to function normally. People passed through the corridors. Systems ran. Time moved forward as it always had.
Only one thing refused to advance.
Tukhee stood up.
"I am going to be flagged for this," he said. "Sooner or later."
Dekhio rose with him.
"Then we deal with that when it happens."
Tukhee looked at him.
"You know this changes things."
"Yes."
"You can still step away," Tukhee said. "Before it spreads to you."
Dekhio did not hesitate.
"I am already involved," he replied. "The moment I did not leave you down there."
Tukhee nodded once.
That was enough.
As they walked toward the exit, the pressure in his chest remained unchanged. It did not tighten. It did not ease. It simply stayed, a constant reminder that something had failed to end.
And that, for the first time, the world had acknowledged it.
Not as a place.
Not as an event.
But as him.