Asylum

Soll's alcove is six flights up from the Tumble, tucked into a honeycomb of small dwellings carved into the mid-level infrastructure. The journey there is a blur — narrow ramps that spiral between levels, bridges that bounce underfoot, corridors crowded with beings who make way for Soll with the casual familiarity of people who've seen this kid sprint through here a thousand times. The alcove itself is small. Three meters by four, maybe. The walls are layered with something soft — organic padding that absorbs sound and makes the space feel muffled, private, like the inside of a cocoon. Crystalline chimes hang from the low ceiling, catching ambient light and scattering it in slow-moving rainbows.

I sink to the floor. Diego collapses beside me. Soll stands in the entrance, filaments still flickering with that anxious pattern, and watches us.

"You are safe here," Soll says. "For now."

"For now," I repeat. "What does 'for now' mean?"

"It means the Gate Wardens will look for you. The Kethe patrol will file a report. Your gate — the human gate — it was dormant. Dead. For a long time. When a dead gate activates, it is..." They search for the English word. "News. Big news."

Diego is leaning against the wall, eyes closed, breathing carefully. The air is still thin. My lungs ache.

"Tell me where we are," I say.

Soll explains. Slowly, searching for words, sometimes pausing to touch my arm again — a quick brush of contact that gives them access to another batch of vocabulary. Each time they pull away, their English gets a little smoother.