The faint glow of a flickering sign was the only thing cutting through the suffocating darkness of the small, windowless basement room.

I pushed myself up from the cold, damp floor, wincing as my knees protested. My fingers fumbled at my pocket until they closed around the crumpled map and keycard that Carson had given me, making sure I hadn't dropped them in my haste.

The paper was soaked and torn, but it had served its purpose. The keycard was intact, its smooth surface reassuringly solid against my palm.

Leaning against the wall, I let the heavy door swing shut with a resounding clang that echoed through the silence. My eyes darted around the space, struggling to process what I'd just uncovered.

A hidden passage.

I'd been right—there was another way in. Someone had tried to erase it with a hasty patch of wallpaper, but they hadn't done a very good job. The faintest flicker of pride stirred in me, though it was quickly smothered by a wave of anxiety.

The keycard in my hand felt heavier as I stared at the small pad by the steel door ahead. My heart pounded with uncertainty.

Was this really the right time for this? I wasn't even prepared—I'd left my burner phone at home, and if there was evidence to find, I had no way to document it.

A dull thud from above froze me in place.

My head snapped up, and fear prickled along my skin. The sound reverberated through the quiet room. A second noise followed—a faint tap, closer this time, too close.

My stomach clenched. For a brief, terrifying moment, I thought of James. My mind went to terrible places as I worried through scenarios, unsure of what to think.

But then I forced myself to breathe, grounding myself against the cold door. If anyone could handle this, it was James. He knew how to deal with these things—whatever "these things" were. He had been handling them long before I ever showed up. I swallowed hard, pushing down the worry that tried to take root in my mind.

He was fine. He had to be fine.

The second noise came again, sharper this time, closer. My body moved before my mind could catch up.

I swiped the keycard over the pad.

The lock clicked, the sound louder than I expected in the stillness, and I shoved the door open. I slipped inside and let it swing shut behind me with a heavy thud. The barrier felt like a lifeline, separating me from whoever was up there.

Leaning against the door, I tried to catch my breath. My chest heaved, and my heart raced as I glanced around the room.

It wasn't what I expected.

Unlike the other forgotten corners of the building, this space was maintained, humming faintly with power. Emergency lights glowed dimly above, their light catching the intricate web of pipes that lined the ceiling.

Four glowing signs sat tall above some sort of entrance, I spotted NPC right away, being the only sign in bold lettering, understandable how it would have stood out to Cassandra.

Why did this room still have power?

The answer came quickly—James. It made sense—an archive like this would need to stay locked, even during outages.

My stomach twisted at the thought of him. What if he checked on this place soon? What if he found me here?

The image of his sharp gaze flashed in my mind, his clipped tone whenever he was angry. He had already been suspicious of me lately, and sneaking into a locked room wasn't exactly going to win me any trust. My hands trembled at the thought of what he'd say—or worse, what he might do—if he caught me.

I had to leave. Now.

Gripping the door handle, I steeled myself for a quick escape. But just as I pulled, something stopped me.

A flash of green overwhelmed my vision—trees, towering and familiar. I could hear the rustling leaves and feel the warmth of sunlight against my skin. For a moment, it was as though the walls of the room had disappeared, replaced by the endless woods I'd once called home.

Memories played in reverse, a life lived in fragments rewinding before my eyes. The years of solitude, the constant fight for survival, the crushing fear of the unknown—they all led me here, to this moment.

My grip on the door handle loosened as understanding settled over me like a weight.

The opportunity was right here. If I walked away now, I might never get it again.

My hands shook terribly as my hand fully let go of the handle, coming up to cover my equally unsteady heart. Forcing my body to turn towards the other side of the room, where I allowed myself to fully take it in, noting the strange dimensions of the room. It was normal, although scarcely decorated only having a plant in a single corner.

I looked closer ahead of me, peering into what fell into a small corridor where four archways lined either side. I stepped forward slowly, twisting my neck so that I could get a look down one of the hallways.

One door lay at the end of a strangely long and narrow hallway. The door upon a longer inspection revealed a very solid and thick looking metal. With a small black box beside it.

I gulped looking down the hall, almost afraid to trap myself in the small space. I looked behind me, quickly as if someone would appear in the room all of a sudden. I knew as my fingers twitched I was just stalling.

I moved my foot, consciously detaching from my body for the sake of time as I allowed my eyes to move from my only point of escape and toward the other cold metal door in the distance.

The walk felt just as long as it looked having to almost jog the distance to get there in under ten seconds. I felt no need to dally as my hand found the handle and pulled gently, making sure to not set off any accidental alarms.

It didn't budge, not that it really surprised me. I moved to the small box on the side and found a keypad. My heart sank at the realization that this might not be so easy.

I stared for a while, my hands hovering unsure. I huffed getting closer to it, like that was going to magically make me know what to put in. Then I noticed how old the plastic was.

It was cracking on the edges and the black box looked more grey up close but the most interesting feature was just how worn the nine, one, thee and zero buttons had become from obvious use over the years.

A spark ignited in me as I pieced together one part of the puzzle. I only needed to figure out the order and that's when the spark dimmed a bit again, finding a new wall being painfully aware of the minutes ticking by with me just standing there.

With a sharp exhale, I pulled back. "Focus," I whispered under my breath, clenching my fists. If this door wasn't going to cooperate, maybe another one would. I wasn't giving up—not yet.

I turned on my heel and retraced my steps out of the narrow hallway, my heart thudding in my chest as I entered the main chamber again. My eyes landed on the next hallway, just to the right of where I had been.

The sign above it read, Artifacts.

The word alone sparked a cautious curiosity, nudging me forward despite my hesitation.I stepped into the corridor.

This hallway felt eerily similar to the last—narrow and stark, the walls unadorned and sterile. But when I reached the end, my breath hitched. This door didn't have a keypad. Instead, it had the same swipe mechanism as the main entrance. Relief surged through me as I fumbled for the keycard in my pocket.

"Please work," I murmured, swiping the card over the pad.

A soft click sounded, and the door swung open. I hesitated, my excitement faltering as confusion set in. Why was this door unlocked with the same card while the other required a code?

I stepped inside, and the air shifted immediately. A faint, acrid smell lingered, faintly metallic. The room was clean and intact, with smooth, bare walls and a polished concrete floor. Yet the objects within told a completely different story.

My eyes adjusted, and I took in the scene: rows of charred and melted file cabinets lined one side of the room, their metal frames twisted and warped. A desk, blackened and scorched, sat at the center of the room, its surface jagged and fragile-looking, giving some truth to Carsons story so far.

Nearby, a battered suitcase, its exterior burned to a crisp, lay half-open, revealing nothing inside but remnants of ash. A single men's shoe, also burned, rested awkwardly beside the suitcase, its laces melted into the charred leather.

I moved cautiously toward the desk, pulling gently at one of the drawers. My blood ran ice cold as it screeched as I opened it, it was empty. Upon further inspection, all of them were empty, so far another waste of time. Whoever had placed these items here had made sure to remove anything of importance before locking the room.

Then I saw it. Among the debris, something colorful stood out. —a small faded pink jacket, neatly folded and completely untouched by the destruction surrounding it. It looked terribly out of place and at the same time, set aside from the rest.

I edged further to the corner it sat in, on a small table. In the dark, almost like whoever put it there didn't want you to notice it.

I couldn't help myself as I felt the fabric. The moment my fingers touched the garment, a memory struck me like lightning. A faceless figure with long hair bends over me, as her hands come to zip up the jacket for me. She says something but I can't hear it, only seeing her tug at the stuck zipper.

But the memory soured in an instant, overtaken by chaotic flashes: firelight casting shadows across trees and bushes, my mother's voice sharp with urgency as she ripped the same jacket off of me after it caught a branch we ran past, and the searing pain of running until my legs could carry me no further. My chest tightened as the sensations clawed their way back to the surface, unbidden and unrelenting.

I turned the jacket over in my hands after giving in and picking it up. Sure enough, a small tear lay at the arm and the zipper now broken and partially missing.

I forced myself to focus, to tether my thoughts to the tangible. The jacket was here, now, among these burned and ruined belongings. It didn't make sense. It should have been left behind in the woods, forgotten in the rush to escape. Its presence here implied intent—someone had retrieved it.

A hollow chill crept over me as my mind turned to James. It wasn't the first time his name had surfaced in moments like this, a shadowy figure lurking at the edges of unanswered questions.

The thought was absurd, wasn't it?

He'd helped me, cared for me in so many ways. Yet, the evidence surrounding me now—this room, this jacket—hinted at connections deeper and murkier than I'd been prepared to accept.

More than I was prepared to believe when Carson told me but things keep seeming to line up...

No. I refused to believe he had anything to do with what happened to my family. I clenched my fists, anger and denial warring in my chest. There had to be another explanation. There had to be.

I forced myself to fold the jacket and place it back where I found it and quickly finding the door.

I needed to keep moving, I still had to get through three more doors.