Nobody said Dae-hyun's name for a while.
That was how bad it was.
Hana's death had hit like a blade.
Dae-hyun's hit like something bigger falling out of the structure itself.
He had been there. Big enough to stand in a doorway and make people feel like maybe the world still had a shape they understood. Hit hard enough to move carts, doors, bodies. Loud enough to put the group back in one line when they were turning into a stampede.
Now he was steam and blood behind a shut fire door.
And the group kept walking because there was no version of this place where grief stopped the floor from killing you.
The utility corridor past the boiler run was tighter and cleaner than the ones before. Painted cinderblock. Plastic pipe labels. Electrical cabinets with faded numbers stenciled on them. A wet industrial smell like detergent and hot dust had soaked into everything.
Joshua walked near the front.
Not because he wanted the job.
Because he had Nia, and people kept watching him like that made him a direction.
She was still crying, but weaker now. Same little broken breath. Same body hitch every few seconds. He kept one hand spread across the back of her head and the other under her, adjusting when her weight slid.
Blood on his sleeve had started drying tacky.
Not his.
That somehow made it worse.
Behind him, one of the laundry carts squealed every turn. Lucía and Idris had Rosa loaded into it now, and every bump made her give off one of those tiny damaged sounds that let everybody know she was alive and maybe wished she wasn't.
The crawling woman limped beside the cart, one arm over the hoodie kid's shoulders. She had stopped thanking them. Good. Nobody had space left for that.
Priya moved through the middle of the group like a knife somebody had taught to walk upright.
"Count again," she said.
Nobody answered for one beat.
Then Joshua did it anyway.
Eyes.
Bodies.
Space.
Old man in the brown coat.
The nurse.
Lucía.
Priya.
Idris.
Abeni.
Tomasz.
Teenager.
Businesswoman.
Two college boys was now one.
Hoodie kid.
Green-skirt woman.
Denim jacket woman.
Tattoo-neck guy.
Bald man gone.
Red polo gone.
Suit gone.
Hana gone.
Dae-hyun gone.
Rosa alive.
Crawling woman alive.
Nia in his arms.
"Twenty-five," he said.
The surviving college boy made a sound from somewhere near the back like even hearing the number took skin off him.
Abeni got a hand to his shoulder before he folded fully.
"Stay up," she said.
He almost laughed in her face.
Not because it was funny.
Because staying up was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard and still somehow what he had to do.
Idris slowed at the next junction and pointed at a rusted wall placard.
LINEN DISPATCH / HOTEL CONTROL
There.
Good.
Rosa coughed wetly in the cart. Lucía crouched beside her without stopping the group entirely.
"Rosa. Rosa, look at me."
Rosa's eyelids dragged open.
One brown eye.
Then both.
Barely.
Lucía touched the lanyard at her chest. "This gets us in?"
Rosa stared at her like language was far away.
Then, after a second too long, she gave one tiny nod.
Joshua saw Priya clock that and immediately cut the group tighter.
"No spread," she said. "No side checks. No one leaves line."
Tomasz muttered, "You keep saying that like anyone wants to go alone."
Joshua looked back at him once.
Tomasz looked away first.
Good.
They reached the dispatch room thirty seconds later and it looked exactly like everything in South Gate Centre looked—normal enough to hurt.
A half-glass office door with wired mesh inside the pane.
A swipe box beside it glowing weak amber.
A cart alcove.
A stack of folded hotel linen wrapped in plastic.
A wall map of service sectors with two big black Xs painted through old labels.
Normal enough that for half a stupid breath, it looked like somewhere a person with a regular job might've come in on a regular Tuesday.
Then Joshua saw the dried handprints on the inside of the glass.
Not regular.
Lucía put Rosa's badge to the box.
Nothing.
She tried again.
Nothing.
Idris snatched the badge out of her hand, turned it, checked the magnetic strip, then shoved past and swiped it with the opposite side.
The amber light flashed green.
The latch clicked.
Everybody looked at Hana's absence in that exact second without saying her name.
Because she would've seen that.
Because she wasn't here to see anything now.
Idris opened the door.
Inside, the office was cramped and square, with dead monitors, a service desk, paper schedules curled with moisture, and one active terminal in the back still casting low blue light over the room like it had been waiting specifically for them.
Joshua hated that terminal immediately.
"Of course," Priya said.
Idris moved to it first.
On the screen was a rough line diagram of South Gate Centre.
Three blocks.
Three labels.
LOADING CONTROL
HOTEL UTILITY
MAINT. OFFICE — UPPER LEVEL
Hotel Utility was pulsing red.
The other two were dark.
And under the diagram, in blocky system text:
SECTION ROUTE LOCK: 0 / 3 CLEARED
Nobody said anything for a second.
Then Tomasz gave a thin, ugly little exhale. "So it is a game."
"No," Joshua said.
Tomasz looked at him. "That screen says otherwise."
Joshua looked at the terminal.
At the simple little boxes and lines.
At the way it reduced all of this into something readable.
Then at Nia's damp little face pressed into his hoodie.
"At games," he said, "you can quit."
The office went still.
Then Priya said, "How do we clear it?"
Idris was already scanning the desk.
He found a plastic sleeve clipped to the side of the monitor with old printed emergency procedures inside.
He flipped once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
His jaw tightened.
"What?"
He held the sheet up enough for Priya and Joshua to see.
EMERGENCY TRAM ACCESS RESTORE
1. CLEAR LOCAL UTILITY SECTION
2. CONFIRM POWER DIVERSION
3. RELEASE MANUAL SECTOR LOCK
"Local utility section," Priya repeated. "That's this one."
Idris pointed to the back wall.
There was a heavy red lever box mounted there behind a clear plastic guard, and beside it a separate key switch with a cracked label:
LOCAL DIVERSION AUTHORITY
Joshua shifted Nia and stepped sideways so Lucía could get Rosa's cart deeper into the room.
Rosa's head rolled weakly toward the lever box.
Her lips moved.
Lucía bent low. "What?"
Rosa whispered something too thin to catch.
"Again."
"…power," Rosa breathed. "Trip… after…"
Then she coughed and shut down again.
Idris moved to the switch. "Badge first."
He swiped Rosa's card through the narrow reader under the key switch.
The terminal chirped once.
LOCAL AUTHORITY RECOGNIZED
Good.
Then another line came up.
CONFIRM DIVERSION REQUIRES PHYSICAL HOLD
Joshua's eyes narrowed.
"Physical hold?"
Idris pointed at the lever box.
There was a recessed steel handle beside the main red lever, spring-loaded and ugly-looking.
"You pull one," he said, "and hold the other."
"For how long?" Lucía asked.
Idris scanned lower.
His mouth flattened.
"Thirty seconds."
Tomasz laughed again, but this time there was no humor in it at all. "Of course there is."
Joshua turned his head slightly.
The corridor outside was too quiet.
No scraping.
No copied voices.
Nothing.
He hated that more than anything in the room.
Priya saw it on him. "You hear something?"
"No."
That was the problem.
Abeni looked at the office door like she wanted it closed, locked, buried, and thrown into the ocean.
"We do it fast," Priya said. "Then move."
"Who holds?" Idris asked.
Joshua shifted Nia once and didn't speak.
Lucía looked between the baby and the lever, then at Priya. "Not him."
"Obviously not him."
"Obviously to you," Tomasz muttered.
Joshua cut a look at him that landed.
Good.
Abeni stepped forward first.
"I'll do it."
Lucía shook her head. "You're already holding people together."
"Then somebody else can start."
"No," the nurse whispered suddenly from near the wall. Everybody looked at her.
She looked like hell.
Eyes swollen. Face wet. Hands trembling so hard she had both pressed into her own thighs just to keep them still.
"No," she said again, swallowing. "I'll do it."
Nobody answered right away.
The old man in the coat looked at her like she'd just confessed to killing God.
Lucía stepped toward her. "You don't have to prove anything."
"I know." Her voice shook. "I know that. I'm still doing it."
Something in that room changed a little.
Not hope.
Not strength.
Just the shape of how people were looking at each other.
Priya nodded once. "Fine."
The nurse walked to the wall on legs that looked like they should've quit already.
Idris pointed. "When I say, pull the small handle down and hold it there. Don't let it snap back."
She nodded too fast.
Lucía moved beside Rosa again anyway, one hand on the cart, the other near her neck checking pulse.
Abeni got the surviving college boy sitting upright against the wall before he slid down again. Hoodie kid stayed with the crawling woman. The businesswoman stood rigid by the door like if she let her knees unlock she'd never get them back.
Joshua stayed angled toward the office entrance.
Nia had finally stopped hard crying. Not calm. Just wrung out enough to whimper small against his chest.
He put his mouth near the top of her head.
"Stay with me."
He didn't know if he was talking to her or himself.
Idris looked at the terminal. "Ready."
The nurse got both hands on the small steel hold-handle.
Priya went to the red main lever.
"Now."
The nurse yanked the hold-handle down.
Priya slammed the red lever over.
The office lights died.
Every single one.
The terminal stayed on.
Blue screen.
Black room.
Then somewhere deep in the walls, power moved.
Not turned on.
Moved.
A low industrial hum came alive under their feet. Far off. Then nearer. Then farther again, like the whole building was swallowing current and deciding where to send it.
The terminal began counting.
30
And outside, in the corridor beyond the office, something heavy hit the wall.
Everybody jumped.
The nurse almost let go.
"Hold it!" Idris barked.
She cried out and held.
27
A second hit outside.
Then a third.
Not random.
Closer.
Joshua stared at the office door.
No voice.
No scrape.
Just impact.
Like something had finally stopped pretending patience was enough.
24
Lucía whispered, "Borrowed Voice?"
Joshua didn't answer.
He didn't know.
That was the problem.
The impact hit again.
This time low.
Then higher.
Testing.
The office glass pane rattled in its wire mesh.
Nia started crying again.
Small at first.
Then harder.
The nurse's face twisted. "How long?"
"Hold it," Priya snapped.
18
From the corridor outside, a voice came.
Not copied.
Not smooth.
Real.
Male.
Low and furious.
"Open the fucking door."
The whole office went dead.
Joshua knew that voice.
The bald man.
Of course he'd found them.
Of course.
Another impact slammed the door.
"Open it!"
Nobody moved.
Joshua looked at the knob.
Then the glass.
Then the narrow little deadbolt above the handle that Idris had already thrown the second they entered.
Not enough.
Not against time.
Not against a human who wanted in and whatever else was still in the corridor with him.
14
The bald man hit the door again.
"Open it!"
Then, softer—
and much worse—
another voice layered in from right beside him.
Borrowed Voice.
In Dae-hyun's tone.
"Move."
Lucía shut her eyes once.
The nurse started crying while still holding the handle down.
11
The door shuddered under another hit.
Then the glass pane cracked from one corner.
Thin white lines spidering through the wire mesh.
The old man in the coat whispered a prayer.
Tomasz took one step backward like there was anywhere to go.
8
Joshua adjusted Nia and looked at the room.
One way in.
No second exit.
No hero route.
Just thirty seconds and a door already starting to crack.
He looked at the fire extinguisher bracket by the inside wall.
Empty.
Good.
Maybe.
He stepped to the side cabinet, ripped open a shallow drawer, and found a metal hole-punch the size of his fist.
Good enough.
He held it low in his free hand and moved in front of the office door.
Lucía looked at him. "Joshua—"
"Watch Rosa."
The door hit again.
The crack in the glass spread.
5
Borrowed Voice spoke in his own voice from the corridor.
Perfect.
Calm.
"Drop her."
Joshua smiled a little.
Not because anything was funny.
Because he was tired enough to hate perfectly.
Then he said, low enough that only the room heard him:
"Come get her."
3
The whole office held its breath.
2
The nurse was sobbing now, both hands white on the steel hold-handle.
1
The terminal flashed.
The hum in the walls deepened.
And far away, somewhere beyond three floors and too much concrete, something massive unlocked with a rolling metal thunder that shook dust from the ceiling.
The terminal changed.
HOTEL UTILITY CLEARED
SECTION ROUTE LOCK: 1 / 3
At the exact same second, the office door handle turned from the outside.
Slow.
Deliberate.
And Nia screamed right as the deadbolt started to give.