The sound of the door slamming echoed through the abandoned facility like a warning.
Palo flinched. Ash immediately stepped between him and the doorway—even though it was sealed, even though Calder had entered with them. Ash's reaction wasn't logical. It was instinct.
Calder didn't comment.
He simply switched on a small hand-light, the beam slicing through the thick shadows.
The hallway ahead was suffocatingly narrow, lined with dusty panels and cracked screens that hadn't flickered in years. Each step stirred the cold air, making it feel like the building was exhaling after years of holding its breath.
Palo hugged his arms around himself.
"I don't like this place."
Ash moved closer. "Neither do I."
Calder led them down the corridor. "You say that now. But this was once the safest part of the facility."
Palo frowned. "Safe?"
Ash scoffed under his breath. "Your idea of 'safe' worries me."
Calder ignored him.
They reached a door with faded letters stenciled across it. The paint was chipped, but Palo could still make out the words:
OBSERVATION ROOM 3 — RESTRICTED ACCESS
His pulse quickened.
"I don't want to go in there," Palo whispered.
Ash looked at him, concern etched deep into his features. "If we don't need to—"
Calder pushed the door open.
"Avoiding it will only delay the memories trying to resurface," he said.
Ash shot him a glare.
"You don't get to decide what Palo can handle."
Palo swallowed hard. "It's… okay. I can look."
Ash didn't like it, but he nodded—slow and protective.
The room inside was dim, illuminated only by Calder's hand-light reflecting off shattered glass and metal surfaces. It looked like a cross between a classroom and a lab:
A semicircle of small desks, meant for children.
A long observation window—now broken—where adults once watched.
Old paper taped to the walls, curled with age.
Drawings.
Lots of them.
Palo stepped forward slowly.
The drawings were all done by children—quick charcoal sketches, pencil lines, messy but emotional. Some were simple: shapes, animals, crooked houses.
But others…
Others looked eerily like Palo's childhood drawing.
Towers.
Structures.
Patterns repeating again and again.
Ash noticed too. "These look like the one in your apartment."
Palo nodded, heart pounding. "Why would other kids draw the same thing?"
Calder approached one of the sketches, touching the wall lightly. "Because the mark didn't just enhance perception. It connected you."
Palo stiffened. "Connected us how?"
"Not telepathy," Calder said. "More like shared intuition. Shared impulses. When one of you learned something, others felt echoes of it."
Palo stared at the drawings with new dread.
"So whatever I saw when I was seven… they saw it too."
Ash shook his head. "That's too much to put on a group of children."
Calder didn't argue. He just looked haunted.
Palo moved toward the broken observation glass. Something glittered near the floor. When he crouched down, he found a fragment of a plastic badge—cracked but still readable:
SUBJECT 17
His breath hitched.
"I've seen that number," Palo murmured. "I don't know where, but… I've seen it."
Ash knelt beside him. "Are you sure? Maybe it's—"
Palo reached for the badge—and the moment his fingers brushed it, a shiver shot up his arms.
He wasn't in the room anymore.
Flashes—just flashes—hit him like cold lightning.
A crying voice.
A hand gripping his.
The sound of boots pounding the hallway.
A teenager shouting, "Go! Take him!"
Then darkness.
Palo gasped and stumbled back. "I—I saw—someone pulled me—someone older—"
Ash caught him, steadying him. "Hey, hey—it's okay. You're okay."
Calder approached carefully. "What did you see?"
Palo's voice shook. "Someone helped me. One of the older kids. They grabbed my hand and pushed me toward the door."
Calder nodded slowly. "So you're remembering them."
Ash looked at Calder sharply. "What happened to the older kids? The ones who helped Palo?"
Calder didn't answer immediately.
"Some escaped," he said finally. "Some didn't."
Palo looked toward the far wall—and froze.
There, among the drawings, was one bigger than the rest.
A group of older kids stood in front of the same door they had just entered. Six of them. Their faces were smudged, unfinished, but one detail made Palo's skin crawl:
In the drawing, they were forming a protective circle around a smaller child.
And the smaller child had Palo's eyes.
Ash whispered, "Palo… they protected you."
Palo's throat tightened painfully. "Why? Why would they risk everything for me?"
Calder looked at the mural with a strange heaviness.
"Because you were the only one among them who saw the full design."
Palo blinked.
"The design of the building?"
"Not just the building." Calder's voice lowered. "The design of what they were planning to do here."
A chill ran down Palo's spine.
"Do you know what that design was?" Ash asked.
Calder hesitated.
Before he could answer, a sound echoed from the hallway outside.
A metallic click.
Soft.
Deliberate.
Ash instantly pulled Palo behind him, muscles tense.
Calder whispered, "We're not alone in this sector."
Palo's heart pounded.
Ash moved to the door, every step silent, every sense alert. "Is it the Observers?"
Calder shook his head grimly.
"No," he said. "It's worse."
Palo swallowed.
"What's worse than the Observers?"
Calder extinguished the light.
And in the pitch darkness, he whispered:
"The children who never escaped".