The chain dragged once as he moved to the doorway. It didn't snag. Didn't resist. Just reminded him, again, that it was there. Like a narrator under his heel.
The hallway was narrow. Smooth-walled. No ornamentation, no marks. But the smell shifted. Old copper. Dust. Something sharper underneath. Like burned fabric, just distant enough to pretend it was someone else's fault.
The girl ahead walked with a limp. Not dramatic. Just a fraction off. Left foot landed slightly louder, slightly longer.
'Why do I know that?'
Not just the limp. The cadence.
It was familiar.
Not from the walk.
From the memory.
He was still inside it, and the body wasn't forgetting. The limp. The smells. The dryness of the air. All of it had meaning once. For someone. For whoever had walked this path and never told anyone what came next.
Merlin shifted his weight forward. The body moved fine now. Tired. Light. But functional.
They turned a corner.
Another hallway. Wider.
