Kai woke.

  The alcove was the same. Cold stone. Faint glimlight. The dagger still in his hand.

  But something had shifted. The fog in his mind had cleared slightly, like mist burning off with morning. He could think straighter now. Breathe deeper.

  The dream clung to him—her face, her warmth, her voice—but it was distant now. A memory of a feeling rather than the feeling itself.

  He reached into his pocket and took out the cog.

  It sat in his palm, small and dark. Still warm. Still strange. He turned it over, watching the glimlight catch its teeth, feeling its impossible weight. Whatever it was, whatever it meant, it was real. Solid. Tangible.

  Just like her.

  "She was real," he said.

  His voice sounded strange in the silence. Rough. Untested. But speaking the words made them feel truer.

  "She is real. Somewhere."

  He pocketed the cog. Stood. His body ached—the arm, the ribs, the knee—but the pain had settled into something manageable. Something he could walk with.

  Today he walked.

  ---

  The corridor looked different today. Or maybe he just saw it differently.

  It was wider here, the ceiling higher, the stones more regular. Ancient, yes, but shaped with purpose. Someone had built this place. Someone had carved these walls.

  Kai stopped.

  The carvings.

  He hadn't noticed them before—had been too focused on survival, on movement, on not dying. But now he saw them. Patterns etched into the stone, worn by age but still visible. Spirals, mostly. Endless spirals winding inward toward centers that had long since worn away. Some were simple. Others complex, branching, almost like maps of something he couldn't quite grasp.

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  He ran his fingers over one.

  Cold stone. Smooth in some places, rough in others. Nothing more.

  He kept walking.

  The glim grew thicker here—great patches of it covering the walls, the ceiling, even the floor in places. Its light was stronger too, casting proper shadows instead of the dim half-light of the lower corridor. He could see further. Breathe easier.

  Then he heard it.

  Water.

  Not dripping this time, but flowing. A stream.

  He followed the sound to a break in the corridor wall—a natural fissure where water had carved its own path through the stone. A small stream emerged from the darkness, crossed the corridor in a shallow channel worn smooth by ages of flow, and disappeared into another fissure on the opposite side.

  Kai knelt.

  The water was cold. Shockingly cold. But clean. He cupped his hands and drank, and the water tasted like nothing and everything. Like life.

  He washed his face. The cold shocked his skin, woke him further. He splashed water on his wounded arm, watching the last traces of dried blood wash away, revealing pink new skin beneath.

  Then he looked down.

  The water was still. Pooled slightly where it crossed the corridor. And in that pool, he saw his reflection.

  Kai stared.

  The face looking back at him was a stranger's. Brown hair, matted and dirty. Brown eyes, hollow with exhaustion. A face that could have been anyone's—young, but not too young. Ordinary. Forgettable.

  Do I know this face?

  He searched for recognition. For some spark of familiarity.

  Nothing.

  Just a stranger looking back at him.

  He looked away. Stood. Moved on.

  ---

  Footprints.

  Kai stopped so fast his injured knee screamed in protest.

  In the dust ahead—thicker here, less disturbed by wind or water—were marks. Prints. The shape of bare feet, multiple sets, pressed into the grey film that coated the stone.

  Others.

  His heart hammered. His grip tightened on the dagger.

  He approached slowly. Cautiously. Every instinct screamed at him to be careful, to watch, to listen.

  The tracks led forward. Away from him. Fresh—he could see the crisp edges, the undisturbed dust between them. Hours old, maybe. Not days.

  He followed.

  Around a bend in the corridor, the tracks led to a wider space—a natural chamber where the corridor opened up. And there, against one wall, were signs of habitation.

  Cold ashes. A small fire ring, carefully made. Discarded wrappings—something that might have held food. A torn piece of fabric, pale cloth, caught on a protruding stone.

  A camp.

  Kai approached slowly, dagger ready, eyes scanning every shadow. Empty. Whoever had been here was gone now.

  He knelt by the ashes. Reached out. Touched.

  Warm.

  Still warm.

  His heart nearly stopped. Hours ago, he'd thought. But this wasn't hours. This was now. Recently. Close.

  They're here. On this floor. Right now.

  He looked around at the signs of their passing. Five sets of tracks, he counted. Maybe six. One set was uneven—a drag, a limp. Someone injured.

  He picked up the fabric scrap. Identified it? No. Just cloth. But evidence. Proof that others existed. That he wasn't alone in this endless place.

  Should I call out?

  The thought burned in his chest. To hear another voice. To see another face.

  But caution held him back.

  He didn't know them. Didn't know if they were friendly, or desperate, or dangerous. Didn't know if they would see him as an ally or prey.

  Learn first, he told himself. Watch first. Then decide.

  He studied the tracks. Memorized them. The shape, the depth, the spacing. He would know these footprints if he saw them again.

  Then he stood. Pockets the fabric scrap. Looks ahead, where the tracks led deeper into the corridor.

  ---

  Kai faced the darkness and made his choice.

  Follow meant risk. They could be enemies. They could be killers. They could be worse than the rats.

  But avoid meant isolation. Alone in an endless tower with no answers, no help, no hope of ever finding the woman with the warm eyes.

  If she's out there, I'll never find her alone.

  He needed others. Needed information. Needed to climb.

  The decision came easier than he expected.

  Follow. But carefully. From distance. Watch first. Learn who they were before they learned about him.

  He touched his pocket. The cog was warm against his thigh. The fabric scrap crinkled beside it.

  He moved forward, following the tracks.

  The ashes were still warm. They were close.

  And for the first time since waking in this place, Kai wasn't alone.