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He doesn’t relax until I move away from the bookshelves. I circle wide, ignoring the tightness in my chest, and resume my search. Onlythere’snothingto find.No doors. No cracks. No change. The spiral staircase leads down to the empty chamber below, and stops dead at the entrance to this one. The walls remain solid and unbroken, no matter how carefully I examine them.

By midday, or what I assume is midday, I’ve exhausted all possibilities. The remains of breakfast disappears, and is replaced with fresh bread and fruit. The pitcher of water is full again. And it all happens without any noise or explanation.

I sit back down on the folded blankets and attempt to untangle my hair using my fingers, with very little success, while Sacha remains at his desk.

“Is that all you do? Sit and write?”

“What else would you suggest? Maybe take a slow stroll over the sand dunes? Gaze out of the window? Paint landscapes of the view?” That eyebrow lifts again.

I press my lips together, swallowing the words I want to say. But I can’t stay silent for long.

“There has to be a way out.” I’m beginning to sound like a broken record. What I really want to ask is how he can stand the constant silence. But I’m afraid the answer will sound too much like my future.

He looks up. “Why?”

“Because I got in.”

“Through a door that no longer exists,” he points out in that same calm tone he’s used in response to everything I’ve said.

“Then another door needs to exist.” I know how Isound—desperate, a little unhinged, like a child who keeps asking ‘are we there yet?’“Or will exist. Orsomething.”

“Don’t you think if there was a door, I’d have left before now?”

“I don’t belong here! This isn’t my world.”

His gaze doesn’t waver from mine. “And yet, here you are.” It’s not an accusation. Just a fact. And somehow, that makes it worse.

The tower’s light dims gradually as time passes, shifting from blue to violet. When night falls, or what I assume is night, Sacha seems to grow restless. He stands, paces around, clears his desk. Last night, I was too exhausted to notice. Tonight, my attention latches onto his odd behavior, and doesn’t let go.

He passes me on the way to the bookshelf. When he reaches me, his stride falters, and his head turns slightly, a frown pulling his brows together, before he looks away again.

The movement is so tiny I would have missed it if I wasn’t already watching him. But I am.

“Is something wrong?”

“Why do you ask?” He doesn’t miss a beat.

I shrug. “You just seem different in the evening.”

His head tilts, surprise crossing his features. “You notice a great deal.”

“So thereissomething wrong.”

There’s a long silence while he looks at me. Then he nods.

“Notwrong, exactly.” He crooks a finger. “Come here.”

I don’t move.

“Please.” I shouldn’t enjoy how much uttering that word seems to pain him. “I want to confirm something.”

Curiosity overrides caution. I cross the floor and stop a few feet from his desk.

“Closer.” His eyes don’t leave my face.

I take another step.

He goes still, and his eyes close briefly. His chest rises with his sharp inhale.