Karl and Nick stood at the entrance to the hatch, staring down into the darkness.

Karl swallowed. "We don't even know if she's down there."

Nick adjusted the strap of his backpack. "Then where is she?"

Karl didn't have an answer.

Nick exhaled sharply. "We can't ignore this, Karl. What if something happened?"

Karl clenched his fists. He hated this. Hated that it was making sense.

Nick didn't wait for him to respond. He grabbed the edge of the hatch and started climbing down.

Karl's pulse pounded, but he followed.

Because the thought of not knowing was worse than whatever waited for them below.

The tunnels were the same as before. Cold. Stale. Too quiet.

Karl's flashlight beam cut through the darkness, but it still felt like something was lurking just beyond its reach.

Nick was tense, scanning every corner, every shadow. "Drista?" he called, voice bouncing off the walls.

No answer.

They pressed forward.

Karl kept his footsteps light, ears straining for anything unusual. But aside from their own breathing, it was silent.

Too silent.

Karl exhaled. "If she's here, she's not answering."

Nick's jaw clenched. "Then we keep looking."

They moved deeper.

Karl's hands were starting to sweat around the flashlight. The deeper they went, the more his chest tightened.

Then, just ahead, Nick suddenly stopped.

Karl nearly bumped into him. "What—"

Nick lifted his flashlight. "That door."

Karl's stomach twisted.

The door was cracked open.

Last time, they had left it shut.

Karl's grip tightened on his flashlight. "We didn't do that."

Nick didn't respond. He just stepped forward.

Karl exhaled, following.

---

The room beyond was just as they had left it. Rusted metal, old documents, abandoned equipment.

But something felt different.

Karl could sense it.

Nick swept his flashlight over the desk. The notebook was still there, the pages exactly as they had left them.

But next to it—

A photo.

Karl's breath hitched. "That wasn't there before."

Nick picked it up, studying it carefully. It was old, black-and-white, the edges curled with age.

A group of people stood in what looked like a lab—Halloway, James Clark, and a few others Karl didn't recognize.

Nick turned it over.

Scrawled on the back in fading ink: Project Echo. 1985.

Karl's heart pounded. "That's the same name from the files."

Nick nodded slowly. "So what the hell were they doing down here?"

Karl's stomach twisted. The word Echo felt too fitting.

Like something left behind, still lingering.

Nick pocketed the photo. "Come on. There has to be more."

They searched the room thoroughly.

Most of the papers were useless—scientific jargon, unreadable notes. But in the back of a rusted filing cabinet, Karl found something.

A folder.

Yellowed. Fragile.

He pulled it out carefully, flipping it open.

Nick leaned over his shoulder. "What is it?"

Karl scanned the first page. His hands started shaking.

"It's... test subjects."

Nick tensed. "What?"

Karl pointed to the list of names, each followed by a number. Some had crossed out lines. Others just said Unaccounted For.

Nick swallowed. "That's... creepy as hell."

Karl turned the page. A list of symptoms. Side effects.

None of them sounded good.

Disorientation. Hallucinations. Unexplained paranoia.

Karl's stomach churned.

Nick read over his shoulder. "They were testing something. But what?"

Karl didn't know.

But suddenly, his own paranoia didn't feel so unfounded.

---

They didn't find Drista.

After an hour of searching, there was nothing.

Nick's frustration was obvious—he was barely keeping it together.

Karl wasn't much better.

"Let's go," Karl muttered, rubbing his arms. "We're not getting anywhere."

Nick clenched his jaw but nodded.

They climbed back up the hatch, empty-handed.

But Karl couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't done.

That whoever had left those papers there had wanted them to find them.

---

Nick crashed at Karl's dorm again. It wasn't even a question at this point.

Karl sat on the bed, running a hand through his hair. His mind kept looping over the photo, the test subjects, the missing people.

None of it made sense.

Nick was lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. "You're thinking too loud."

Karl let out a small laugh, weak but real. "Yeah? You wanna turn my brain off for me?"

Nick huffed. "Believe me, I would if I could."

Karl hesitated. Then, quietly, he asked, "What if we're looking at this all wrong?"

Nick turned his head slightly. "What do you mean?"

Karl exhaled. "What if... none of this is supernatural? What if it's just something worse?"

Nick didn't answer right away.

Then, finally, "I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse."

Karl let the silence sit between them.

Eventually, Nick muttered, "You should get some sleep."

Karl snorted. "You're one to talk."

Nick turned his head fully now, actually looking at Karl. "I mean it. You look dead."

Karl met his gaze, and suddenly, the exhaustion caught up to him all at once.

His body ached. His brain was fried.

But the thought of closing his eyes—of being alone in his head with all of this—terrified him.

Nick must have seen it.

Because after a moment, he shifted closer, muttering, "Move over."

Karl blinked. "What?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Just—shut up and move."

Karl hesitated, but then he did.

Nick climbed onto the bed, lying next to him, not touching but close enough that Karl could feel the warmth of him.

Karl swallowed. "This isn't weird, right?"

Nick sighed. "Karl, I'm too tired to be weird about this."

Karl let out a soft laugh.

They lay there, the silence no longer suffocating.

Karl didn't feel alone.

For the first time in days, he actually slept.