The stair did not feel longer on the way down.
It felt slower.
Every step measured itself against the weight of the proof phrase sitting in Fang's mind and the witness record in Dr Sane's satchel. The corridor beneath the archive wing was as he remembered it from the first descent, but the air had changed again. It held less of the old archive's dust now and more of the sharpened, metallic stillness that came from a system preparing to be invoked.
Dr Sane walked in front without hesitation. If she was afraid, Fang could not see it. But then, he thought, fear in people like her seldom showed itself in the obvious places. It lived in the hands, in the pauses between words, in the decision to carry the right documents personally rather than trust them to anyone else.
Ren remained beside Fang.
His shoulder brushed Fang's every few steps, a small, steady reminder that whatever the chamber decided to ask, Fang would not answer it alone.
