I woke to something soft beneath me.

For a second, I didn't move. The pillow cradled my head, light and cool, nothing like the ragged sacks we stuffed under our necks in the Underworld. The mattress, too. Firm but yielding. Clean. That was the first thing I noticed. The smell of sterility. Of crisp sheets and disinfected air.

I opened my eyes slowly, squinting against the brightness. The ceiling was smooth, white, and high. No exposed pipes. No rusted panels. No humming generators shaking the floor under me. Just silence and light.

Sunlight.

A pale beam cut through the curtain seams and spilled across the floor like gold. My heart stumbled at the sight of it. I'd never woken up to sunlight with my own eyes before. Not like this. I tried to sit up, but my vision blurred instantly with the brightness. My eyes weren't ready. Not yet.

I swallowed, rubbed at my lids, and swung my legs over the bed. My feet sank into a plush carpet, something I'd only read about in old books. A small kitchenette sat in the corner, neat and efficient, and beside it, a little round table, set like someone expected me to eat.

There was food.

Not nutrient tubes. Not synthetic paste. Real food. Toast. Eggs. Fruit. The scent hit me gently. Warm and almost nostalgic. For one terrifying moment, I thought I might cry.

I crossed the room slowly, on edge despite the comfort, scanning for traps or surveillance.

There was a bathroom. Clean, tiled, with running water that didn't sputter or groan. It looked like something from the Upperworld catalogs we used to scavenge for paper.

I walked back to the table and stared at the food again. Then, I pinched my cheek. Hard.

The sting was real.

So was the rumble in my stomach, but I ignored it. I couldn't afford to trust comfort, not here. Not now. I moved back toward the walls and began inspecting them with my hands, one by one. Tapping for hollows, checking seams. No cameras I could see, though I doubted I was alone.

I was halfway through the third wall when I heard it.

A soft click.

I spun.

The door opened with a hiss, and there he was.

The Sentinel.

Still cloaked in sleek armor, movements precise and effortless. One gloved hand rested at his side, the other pushed the door fully open before it clicked shut again. He looked at me, barely, and then scanned the room like he didn't trust it either.

I stepped forward. "Where am I?"

His eyes, silver and unreadable, snapped to mine.

"Somewhere safe."

I narrowed mine. "You keep saying that. Safe from what? From the Master? From the other Sentinels? Or from you?"

No answer.

My pulse thudded in my ears. I took another breath, slower this time, pushing back the rising frustration.

"What do you want from me?"

His head tilted slightly, like he was analyzing me.

Then: "What do you want?"

The question caught me off guard.

What did I want?

A hundred answers flooded my head. Freedom, safety, vengeance, knowledge. But only one made it past my lips.

"I'm looking for someone."

He didn't react. Didn't even blink.

"Who?"

I hesitated, suddenly unsure if saying his name was a mistake.

"Ron," I said anyway. "He crossed over. From the Underworld. I know he's here. I need to find him before it's too late."

That made something shift.

Not visibly, not dramatically. But I saw it. A flicker, tiny, of recognition? Concern? Something unreadable, but undeniably there in the Sentinel's posture.

I took a step closer. "You know something. Don't you?"

He didn't answer.

But the silence wasn't empty.

It felt like a door just cracked open. The one I wasn't supposed to see.

He said nothing.

The silence stretched between us, thick and strange. It wasn't cold silence, not like I'd expected. It was something more… deliberate. Like he was choosing not to answer. Holding something back.

"You know something," I said again, this time firmer. "About Ron. I saw it in your face, whatever's left of it behind that armor."

Still no response. Just the faintest shift of weight, a glance toward the window.

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded. "Why did you bring me here? Why keep me alive? Why, why feed me real food, put me in a bed, let me see the sun, just to keep me in the dark?"

Finally, he looked at me fully. For a second, I thought I saw… hesitation?

Then, his voice, low and even: "I'll help you find him."

I blinked.

"What?"

"I'll help you find your friend," he said again. "But there's a condition."

My heart leapt into my throat.

"You stay here."

I froze.

"What?"

"You don't leave this room," he continued, calm and mechanical, like he was listing off a rule. "I'll bring you updates. What I find. Where he is. What you need to do to help him. To help both of you get out of here. But only if you stay. Understand?"

"No!" I said, immediately. "No, I don't understand. Why would you help me? You're a Sentinel. You're one of them. You're supposed to turn me in, drag me back underground, not...play protector."

He didn't flinch.

"You don't owe me anything," I pressed. "You don't care about Ron. Or me. So what do you really want? Is this some kind of trap? Are you using me for bait? Studying me? Why, why are you doing this?"

His eye...his silver human eye flicked toward me again. I saw the shadow of something cross his face. Something that almost looked like...

But he didn't answer.

He turned instead, the shift in his cloak like a whisper of wind, and walked to the door.

"Wait," I said, stepping forward. "Wait. Just tell me. Please. Why me?"

His hand rested on the door panel. A pause. A second where I thought he might say something. Anything.

But he didn't.

The door slid open and hissed shut behind him, and just like that, he was gone. Sealing me in with silence.

I stood frozen for a moment, the words "I'll help you find him" still echoing in my head, but not offering any real comfort. I didn't trust it. I couldn't.

And I sure as hell wasn't going to sit around and wait.

I began to search again.

First, the drawers near the bed. Empty. Too empty. No dust, no signs of use. It was like someone had prepared this space just for me, scrubbed it down to the bones. I opened the closet. A few basic clothes. All in muted shades. Neatly folded. Wrong sizes.

The kitchenette. Sterile. The food was warm, untouched, and real but the cabinets were bare, the fridge humming but mostly empty save for a bottle of water and two apples. The bathroom held only the bare minimum. Soap, towel, toothbrush. All untouched. No trash. No residue.

There wasn't a single misplaced item. Not a hair. Not a trace.

It was like I had been placed in a model room inside a dollhouse, watched and judged from somewhere unseen.

"Damn it," I whispered under my breath, slamming a drawer shut harder than I meant to.

I moved to the walls, checked behind the curtains, tapped against panels for hidden compartments. Nothing. No cameras I could see but I couldn't be sure. No obvious surveillance, no cracks to slip through. Just silence. Just isolation.

Finally, defeated, I sank to the floor next to the bed, my back pressed against the cool frame. I pulled my knees to my chest and stared blankly ahead, the warmth of the room feeling more like a cage now than a comfort.

What was this place?

Why was I here?

And why the hell would a Sentinel, a Sentinel, promise to help me find Ron?

I didn't trust him. I couldn't.

But I also couldn't stop the tiny, flickering hope trying to push its way up through my ribs.

What if… he really meant it?

I let my head fall back against the mattress and closed my eyes. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was warm, full, and safe, but I'd never felt more uncertain.

And worse… I had no idea what to do next.