The tower didn't smell like stone. It smelled like paper that had learned how to breathe, a dry, ancient scent of stored knowledge and forgotten trees. The moment I crossed the seam, the light thinned and the sound of the world outside lost its edges, replaced by a deep, heavy quiet.
My first step landed, and the floor firmed under my boot, deciding to be a floor. The second step waited for me to commit my weight before it made up its mind. I held still and counted a breath, the way Luna had taught me, long and slow, and let the out-breath run longer than the in.
Valeria settled in my bones, calm and cool, a familiar weight in a room that felt wrong at the root. 'Inventory,' I told myself. 'No bravado. Just the truth.'
