I scan the cell. Ashlynn isn't here. My heart is calm, steady, obedient. But something else hurts. Not sharp. Not loud. The body doesn't remember pain. I do.
"Where's Ashlynn?" I ask the man.
He's leaning against the wall.
"Lessies only brought you in," he says. "No one else."
"Lessies?" I ask.
"Faceless. Lessies. Call them whatever." He shrugs. "They're just homunculi. Mass-produced."
The word slides past me. What sticks is no one else. I pause.
"I'm sorry," I say. "But who are you?"
"Gary," he answers easily. "Have we met before?"
"I don't think so."
"Ah." He nods. "Then who are you?"
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. It isn't fear. My tongue isn't heavy. There's just a gap where the answer should live. Gary's face tightens slightly, like he's already decided something about me and is waiting to see if I'll confirm it. Then I say it.
"Len. My name is Len."
Relief passes through me. Clean. Immediate. My body doesn't react.
His face loosens. "Nice to meet you, friend."
BAM.
Metal slams. The sound hits the walls and echoes.
I crawl forward and press my face to the bars. Gary mirrors me without comment. For a moment we're level, both breathing the same stale air.
Then the smell comes.
Cooked meat.
Footsteps. Soft. Too even.
Faceless figures walk the corridor, methodical. Their steps don't echo. They don't look at us. They toss sandwiches through the bars like feed.
One lands in our cell.
Then another.
Two.
I pick mine up. Gary picks his.
I stare at it. I don't eat.
BAM.
The same door slam.
Gary opens his sandwich, pauses, then flicks the contents onto the floor.
"Don't eat the meat."
The eyeballs roll. Stop near my feet.
Amber. The same shade Ashlynn's turn in the dark.
My stomach convulses before I can stop it. I vomit hard, choking on it, palms scraping the floor.
"You don't like eyeballs?" Gary chuckles, already tearing into the bread.
I wipe my mouth with my sleeve. I try to speak.
"I—" Nothing forms. Is this what she felt? "I think I'm a picky eater," I manage.
He nods like that explains everything.
I copy him. Remove the meat. Remove the eyes. Eat only the bread. It tastes like nothing. We finish in silence.
"You look way too calm for someone in prison," Gary says eventually.
Words don't come. Not because I can't speak. Because there's no correct answer.
"Southern cell," he continues. "Safe cell. If she's not here, she's north."
My throat tightens.
"The processing cell."
I gag. The emotion arrives late and heavy — sadness, anger, something sharp underneath. My heart stays slow.
"Easy," he says. "With you here, we've got a chance."
He points at my right hand.
"The leechsteel. Uncalibrated, but it'll do."
I look down. The metal is dull. Still. Like it's pretending to be dead.
"What do you mean uncalibrated?" I ask.
He exhales through his nose, like I asked why water is wet.
"Leechsteel listens," he says.
I wait.
"It maps you. Pulse. Heat. Stress drift." He taps his chest once. "The things you don't control."
My arm doesn't move.
"Yours latched early," he adds. "Wrong rhythm. That's why it's stiff."
"Stiff how?"
"Protective," he says. "Until it decides you're not the threat."
"How does it decide?"
A smaller shrug this time.
"Your heart teaches it. Or it doesn't."
"And if it doesn't?"
He looks at me then. Not curious. Not worried.
"Then it keeps you safe."
The sentence doesn't land right.
"Safe from what?"
A faint smile. His only one.
Gary stands and pulls a brick loose from the upper wall. A key drops into his palm.
"Deal," he says. "We rescue your friend. Then we descend to the fifth floor."
"If it's for my friend," I say. "Deal."
It's the first time I've used that word here.
Click.
The cell opens.
Gary moves fast, unlocking doors across the corridor. Prisoners spill out — some frozen, some shaking, some already running before permission feels real.
"You don't know me and I don't know you," Gary shouts. "But there's only one way. The way up."
Silence.
Awkward. Heavy.
He leans in, whispers, "It goes differently in my head."
"Leave it be." I whisper back.
He unlocks the corridor door.
One prisoner approaches us. Eyes wide in disbelief.
"C-can I leave?"
I nod.
He hesitates. Then a first step. Second step. Both feet no longer in the corridor. Then he runs.
Another follows. Then another. Soon the corridor is empty.
Just me and Gary.
As I step forward, Gary stops me. "Let's not be suicidal."
He closes the door. Locks it.
We return to the cell. He seals it from the inside.
He pulls a brick free from a lower part of the wall. Not where the key was. A second brick follows. Then a third.
Mortar flakes onto the floor. Dust clings to my fingers. Behind the bricks— darkness. A hollow space. Not a vent. No metal. No draft. A passage cut straight through stone. Sideways. Not down. Not up. Someone-made.
"How long has that been there?" I ask.
Gary doesn't answer right away. He works another brick loose, careful, practiced. Like muscle memory doing something his mouth doesn't want to admit.
"Long enough," he says.
The opening widens. Just enough for one person. I can't see the end of it. The darkness doesn't slope. It doesn't drop. It just goes. North, I realize. Not because I see it. Because it feels like pressure behind my eyes.
Gary gets down on all fours.
"You first?" I ask.
He snorts softly. "Builder's privilege."
He crawls in.
The stone scrapes against his shoulders, then swallows him whole.
I hesitate.
For a moment, my heart still doesn't react.
Then something pulls tight in my chest—not fear.
Direction.
I follow.
Toward Ashlynn.
Toward my friend.