CHAPTER 38: A SNACK
Suryel woke with a jolt, breath catching sharply in her chest as consciousness snapped back into place without ceremony.
Something was wrong.
Not pain.
Not hunger.
Not the familiar ache of sleeping badly.
A hollow space where something had been only moments ago.
The kind of absence that echoed, not loudly, but persistently, like a room that had been emptied too quickly.
The kind that made your ears strain, waiting for a sound that refused to return.
It was absence of breathing.
That was it.
The steady rhythm she had unconsciously attuned herself to was gone.
The low, grounding cadence that had been there when she fell asleep, anchoring her to the moment, had vanished. Her mind kept expecting it to resume, like a tide that should have come back in by now.
It didn’t.
Her body lay awkwardly sprawled across the armchair.
One leg slung over the arm, the other folded beneath her hip, spine bent at an angle that promised a stiff ache later.
She registered the discomfort dimly, cataloging it without urgency.
Pain, at least, was honest. Predictable.
The room itself felt… held.
Too still.
Not the quiet of rest or peace. This was different.
Intentional. As if the space itself had been trained to pause, to wait, to observe. Even the shadows felt disciplined, pressed neatly into corners, refusing to stretch or drift.
No hum of distant corridors. No faint echo of footsteps. No movement at all.
It felt like the room was watching her wake.
Waiting to see what she would do next.
Her heart began to pound, the rhythm uneven, too loud in the silence. She pushed herself upright slowly, muscles protesting the movement, the blanket slipping down her arms.
Her eyes swept the space.
The table. The far wall. The doorway.
“Helel?” She called.
The sound of her own voice startled her.
It landed too loudly, like a rule broken.
Nothing answered.
The name had slipped out before she could stop it.
Her mouth twisted faintly.
She hated that. Hated how easily it came now, how naturally it surfaced when she was disoriented or afraid. It wasn’t just a name anymore.
It carried weight. Expectation. A request disguised as a reflex.
Her fingers tightened around the blanket, gathering the fabric into her fists as a familiar, unwelcome thought crept in uninvited.
People leave when you stop watching.
You fell asleep.
Her jaw clenched.
“No, did he leave… but to where?” She whispered, the word barely existing, fragile against the vast quiet.
She shook her head sharply, as if the thought itself were something tangible she could dislodge. Her breath hitched, threatening to spiral if she let it linger.
She stood.
The blanket slipped further, and she gathered it instinctively, wrapping it around her shoulders and chest, pulling it close like a thin shield.
She didn’t remember when she’d picked it up, or from where.
The familiarity of it only made her chest ache harder.
Her heart began to hammer. Each beat felt too large, too insistent. Her breathing shortened, shallow and quick, brushing dangerously close to panic.
She focused on the door.
It stood closed.
Solid.
Unmoving.
Too final.
It felt distant in a way that had nothing to do with space. Like it had become foreign while she slept. Like it was a boundary that had decided to matter.
The door seemed to pose a question without words:
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Are you ready to face the possibility that I open to nothing?
She stood there longer than necessary.
Counting breaths.
Counting heartbeats.
Doors had taught her lessons before. Lessons she had never asked for. Lessons that arrived suddenly and stayed forever.
Her hand lifted anyway.
Because not opening it would have been worse.
She reached for the handle—
And the door opened first.
It swung inward smoothly, pulled from the other side.
Helel stood there.
For a split second, he paused when he saw her, eyes flicking over her posture, her wide eyes, the way her weight was balanced as if she were prepared either to bolt or to brace.
Surprise crossed his face briefly.
Then he smiled.
Not the sharp, teasing grin he wore like armor.
This one adjusted itself mid-formation. Softened. Chosen.
“Well.” Helel said lightly, voice warm as he tilted his head, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
Suryel frowned, trying to hide the rush of relief that flooded her chest.
It made her lightheaded, almost dizzy. “Where were you?” She demanded, the question coming out sharper than she meant.
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped closer and tugged the blanket more securely around her shoulders, his fingers deft, familiar. His hand lingered briefly at her upper arm, warm and grounding, and her breath caught before she could stop it.
“I was looking for the way out.” He said calmly as he guided her back toward the armchair.
She let herself be steered, watching him closely, eyes tracking every movement. “And?” She asked as she sat. “Did you find it?”
He shrugged, casual, almost careless. “I found a clue.”
He didn’t elaborate.
Not because he couldn’t.
But because he was watching her. Measuring the tightness in her shoulders, the tension in her jaw. Gauging how much uncertainty she could carry without splintering.
He’d learned that answers given too early could hurt just as much as silence.
His gaze lingered, thoughtful, calculating without being cold.
Then he lifted one finger.
He traced a slow circle through the air.
The space responded.
A faint shimmer rippled outward, light folding in on itself. The air bent with a subtle pressure, a soft pop, like reality clicking its tongue in irritation at being interrupted.
A juice box and a pack of melon bread dropped neatly into existence with a rustle.
The sight was absurd.
Mundane.
Mass-produced.
Brightly packaged with innocent branding that had no business being here.
And that made it terrifying.
And comforting.
At the same time.
Proof that the world she knew still existed somewhere. That it hadn’t vanished completely. That it was still within her reach.
The items rested cold and solid on her lap, smelling faintly of plastic and sugar.
Suryel stared.
Helel’s smirk was entirely self-satisfied.
“Eat.” he said, nodding toward the food. “Then we’ll go.”
She eyed it warily. “Thanks? But I’m not hungry.”
He raised an eyebrow and leaned closer, bracing his hands on the armrests. His face was suddenly much too close, expression calm, unreadable.
“Relax.” He said evenly. “It’s not poisoned. Perfectly fit for consumption.”
Then his mouth curved into something playful. Dangerous.
“Start eating.” He added softly, “Or I’ll open your mouth and feed you myself. Like a little bird.”
Suryel shivered.
She knew he wasn’t bluffing.
She wasn’t willing to test it.
She tore open the melon bread’s wrapper and took a bite.
Sweet.
Soft.
Just like she remembered.
Her stomach growled traitorously, loud enough to betray her.
Helel straightened with a satisfied hum and crossed the room, settling into the chair across the table with infuriating ease. He watched her eat, expression relaxed, almost fond.
She followed the bread with a sip of orange juice.
Mid-sip, she scowled. “Where did this come from?”
“Your local supermarket.” He replied with a shrug, entirely too pleased with himself.
She sputtered, coughing. “Wait— What? Did you give me stolen food?!”
Helel looked deeply offended. “Absolutely not. How dare you.”
He gestured broadly. “It was a transaction.”
She stared at him.
“Goods removed from shelf.” He continued, smoothing his hand across the table as if tending to wounded pride. “Currency placed in cash drawer.”
She took another bite, chewing slowly. “Then why not just send me back?”
The air shifted.
Helel’s smile vanished.
“There are rules.” He said, flatly.
Not suggestions.
Gravity.
Consequences.
“We cannot transmute that which has free will.”
She swallowed, thinking, then shrugged. “I’m willing.”
He closed his eyes, dragged a hand down his face, and sighed like a man deeply tired of arguing with existence itself.
“Finish your bread.” He muttered, laying his head on the table. “Then we’ll go home.”
The word home lingered between them.
Heavy.
They each heard something different.
Suryel hummed happily, finishing the last bite, and nodded. “Okay. Ready. Let’s go.”
She clung to him now, excitement bubbling, fingers curling into his sleeve like she might anchor herself there.
Helel smiled sadly, hand resting at her side.
He felt like he was lying by not correcting her, and hiding the truth that home might not be as simple as it seemed.
He pushed the door open.
And they stepped back into the Lapis Lazuli corridor.
