Page 6

He shrugs. “Perhaps. But would further explanation help your situation?”

“Yes!” I take a step toward him. “If I knew how I got here, maybe I could figure out how to get back.”

“Or you’d simply be burdened with knowledge you can’t use. For now, accepting your circumstances might be more productive than questioning them.”

“Accept that I’m trapped in another world? That I might never see my home again?” My voice rises. “How is any of that productive?”

“It allows you to focus on what can be changed rather than what cannot.”

“And what exactly can be changed?” I deliver the words through gritted teeth.

He studies me for a long moment. “That remains to be seen.”

I turn away, unable to look at his impassive face any longer. He could be carved from stone for all the response he gives. His calm in the face of my panic is maddening. He knows something, I’m certain of it, but he’s clearly not planning to share it.

I pace the chamber, trying to think. If I really have traveled between worlds, there must be a way to reverse the journey. The doorway appeared once. It could appear again. But when? And how?

“The door.” I turn back to him. “The one I came through. You said it won’t return for some time. How long?”

“That’s difficult to predict.”

“ Try .”

He regards me for a moment. “Days, perhaps. Weeks. It depends on too many factors.”

“ What factors?”

“That’s a complicated question to answer.”

“I have time.” My voice is bitter. “Lots of it, apparently .”

“Indeed you do.”

He rises and walks a few steps, pausing at the edge of his desk to face me directly.

“This tower exists in a unique position.” His voice takes on a teaching tone. “The doorway appears and disappears according to patterns most cannot perceive.”

“But why? Why would a door just appear and vanish?”

“Some boundaries are not meant to be permanent.”

“But we’re inside it. If it disappeared, wouldn't we?—”

“Disappear with it?” He shakes his head. “No. The tower doesn’t cease to exist. It merely … moves out of reach.”

None of this makes sense, yet I have no alternative explanation that fits what I’ve experienced.

“And you live here? In this tower that shifts between states?”

“I remain here, yes. ”

Something in his phrasing catches my attention. Not I live here , but I remain . As though staying wasn’t entirely his choice.

“Can you leave? When the door appears?”

His expression doesn’t change, but tension creeps into the line of his shoulders. “My circumstances are more complex than yours.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that while you merely need to wait for the door to reappear, my situation requires more … specific conditions to change.”

“You’re trapped here.”

He doesn’t confirm or deny, but his silence is answer enough.

“Why?”

“That’s a story for another time.” He turns away. “For now, you should rest. Eat. Regain your strength.”

“Why should I trust anything you say?” The question breaks loose before I can stop it. “For all I know, you’re the reason I’m stuck here.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. Just a fraction. “An interesting theory.”

“Is it true?”

“Would it matter if it were?” His voice is perfectly level. “Your circumstances remain the same regardless of who or what brought you here.”

He’s right. And that only makes it worse. Knowing won’t help. It won’t change anything.

Exhaustion washes over me in a wave. “What am I supposed to do? Just sit here and wait? ”

“For now, yes.” He returns to his desk, turning his back to me, clearly finished with our conversation.

I look around the chamber, taking stock of my surroundings more carefully than my earlier panic allowed.

There’s his desk with its chair, a small table with another seat, shelves lined with books, and a low neatly made bed set into an alcove on the far side.

I move to the chair near the table, as far from him as possible, and sit down.

There’s fresh bread and fruit laid out on the plate, replacing the food that had been there last night. I didn’t see him prepare it or bring it in. And if there’s no door, where is he getting it from?

Another unanswered question in this tower of impossibilities.

I pick up a slice of bread and bite into it. It’s dense, slightly sweet—strange, but good. The fruit is stranger still, its flesh firm with a spicy aftertaste that makes my tongue tingle.

While I eat, I watch him. He reads as though I’m not here, turning pages, and occasionally making notes in a separate book. His movements are smooth, controlled. Even the way he holds the quill pen seems deliberate.

He hasn’t looked up since I sat down. From this angle, I can see the side of his face—his head tilted slightly down, eyes lowered to the book in front of him.

His lashes are long, unnaturally dark against his skin.

His hair is black, not brown-black, but more like a raven’s wing.

Blue-black, or maybe that’s the odd light shining on it.

It’s straight, tucked behind one ear on the side I can see, and brushes the base of his neck where it falls loose.

A single thin braid with small black beads weaved into the hair hangs down, the ends brushing against his collarbone .

His profile is all sharp angles and clean lines.

High cheekbones and a jawline that looks like it could cut glass.

His mouth is set in a firm line beneath a nose that’s straight and defined.

There’s nothing soft about his features.

It’s the kind of face that commands attention rather than invites it.

His clothing is like nothing I’ve seen before, unless you count costume dramas or fantasy movies.

He’s wearing a long coat that falls to his knees, almost like a tailored Victorian jacket, but with a different cut.

It’s dark, black or possibly deep blue in this light, with a thin line of stitching along the cuffs, dark-on-dark, easy to miss unless you’re looking.

He turns the page, and the noise snaps me out of my examination.

“How long have you been here?” I can’t stay quiet any longer. It’s driving me crazy.

He lifts his head. “A long time.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one that matters.” He lowers his gaze again.

I finish eating in silence, aware of every move he makes, and every one he doesn’t.

The quiet feels wrong. It’s not just the lack of sound, it’s the lack of life .

No hum of traffic. No voices bleeding through a wall.

No flicker from a screen left on too long.

Just the turn of pages, and the scratch of his pen.

I glance at the ceiling. It glows with the same steady light as the walls.

Questions pile up in my mind, getting louder the longer I try not to think about them .

How did I get here? Why this tower? Where did the door go? And most importantly, how do I get home?

But the most disturbing thing of all is the man across the chamber.

Sacha .

I don’t know what he’s keeping from me, but he is not telling me everything. I’m certain of that. His careful answers and cryptic statements hint at deeper knowledge, and right now I don’t know if that knowledge will help or hold me here.

My fingers curl against the base of the chair, and a chill crawls up my spine. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s the growing realization that I really am trapped here, in this place, with no clear way home.

For now, I have no choice but to wait. To watch, and to listen, while I try to understand the rules of this place and the man who inhabits it. And hope that when the door finally reappears, I can make my way through it and back to the world I know.