Page 10

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 I sound—desperate, a little unhinged, like a child who keeps asking ‘ are we there yet?’ “Or will exist. Or something .”

“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 there is something wrong.”

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

“Not wrong , 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.

“What are you doing?” The air shifts between us.

“Move back again.” He ignores my question, gaze locked on mine. The intensity in his focus makes my skin prickle.

I step back, and his stance changes again.

“Interesting. Forward once more.” His voice has taken on an edge, urgency mixed with curiosity.

I comply, biting my tongue on the thousand questions I want to ask.

The space between us is charged with tension. It’s not just whatever he thinks is happening. It’s him . The way he’s focused on me.

Like I’m not a person, but a pattern he’s trying to solve.

“What is this achieving?” I finally manage, crossing my arms and tucking my hands beneath them to hide how much they’re shaking.

“There’s something about my situation here that I haven’t explained.” His voice is steady, every word chosen with care.

Fear mixes with curiosity, turning into a knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach.

Is this where he tells me he’s a murderer? That I’ve been trapped with someone dangerous all this time ?

My mouth dries, my heart picks up speed, my instincts screaming for flight in a place that offers nowhere to run.

“What?” The word is barely audible.

“I am bound to this tower.” His eyes hold me in place. “Not simply because there is no door, but by magic.”

“What does that mean?” I whisper.

“It means I cannot leave. More specifically, I am constrained by magical bindings that tighten at night, gradually restricting my reach until I’m confined to my bed.” The clinical way he describes his imprisonment makes it somehow more horrifying.

I stare at him. Really stare. For the first time, I stop seeing the stranger, and start seeing the prisoner.

“Someone has locked you in here?” My voice doesn’t sound like mine.

“Correct.” The word is clipped.

“Why?”

“ That requires a much longer conversation.” Something flickers across his face—pain, maybe. Or fury. It’s gone before I can be sure. “What matters now is what you just demonstrated.”

“And what did I demonstrate?” My heart thuds against my ribs.

“Your proximity to me affects the binding.” There’s a faint trace of wonder in his voice, replacing the control for just a moment. “When you’re near, the constraint weakens. I can move more freely.”

I take an instinctive step back. “How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. In all my time here, nothing has affected the binding. I’ve never experienced anything influencing it … until you.”

My thoughts spin, too fast to hold. Magic. Bindings. Influences. Me .

“So … what does it mean?”

“It means you must have a connection to the magic of this realm.” He speaks slowly, as though the idea is building while he talks. “Something in you resonates with the magic used to bind me.”

“But I don’t have magic. I can’t. Earth doesn’t have magic.”

“Consider the evidence. You crossed between worlds. You found this tower. You opened a door that has never appeared before. And now, your mere presence weakens a binding designed to be unbreakable. Is that not magic?”

“It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Not yet. But it might, with time.”

“I don’t have time. I want to go home!”

“I understand that.” His voice softens. “But consider this. If you can affect the magical structures in this world, then that same ability might also be the key to returning to yours.”

“But how?” It’s almost too much to comprehend. “What are you suggesting?”

“That we can help each other, after all. You affect the binding that holds me. I understand the magic of this realm. Together, we might discover what brought you here … and how to send you back.”

I don’t trust him. But that doesn’t matter when there is no one else here, and no way out.

“I need to think about this.”

He nods, and turns away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Now that I know what he’s hiding, it’s impossible not to see it. The way tension gathers in his frame. His movements become less smooth as evening wears on, like each gesture pains him.

Eventually he crosses the room without a word and lowers himself onto the bed. After that, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t sleep though. His eyes are open, staring up at the ceiling. Everything about it looks unnatural. As though his body isn’t obeying him anymore.

My own body tenses up, almost in sympathy. How must it feel to be held by an invisible force in one position for hours on end?

I sit on my makeshift bed, blankets wrapped around my shoulders against the tower’s chill, and try to make sense of everything he’s told me.

A magical binding. Invisible but powerful enough to trap him here for years—how many, I can’t guess and he won’t tell me.

He doesn’t look much older than me, but something about him feels older than I am.

Tired. Worn. The same walls, the same ceiling, the same silence.

I can’t imagine it. I don’t want to. But the thought of it won’t leave me.

The concept is so horrifying, my mind struggles to fully grasp it.

And somehow, I make it worse. Or better. I don’t know which. But reading between the lines of what he has told me, I change the status quo.

I change something I don’t understand. Just by being near him.

What does that mean about me? Was I drawn to this tower because of it? Am I only here because he needed someone who could break it?

And what if I do? What happens if I undo whatever has been holding him in place? Will he help me get home, or is there a reason someone went to this much trouble to keep him here?

And that raises more questions. What am I, if I can bend magic without meaning to? What else might I change by reaching for it? And what happens when he stops needing me to?

I curl up, pulling the blankets tighter around me as if they can shield me from these questions.

The tower hums around me—low, steady, harder to ignore than before. Or maybe I’m just listening to it differently now.

But one thing is certain. Sacha knows more than he’s telling me. Much more. And whatever his reasons for being bound here are, I’m no longer separate from them. I’m already part of whatever comes next.