Chapter 4 · free to read
They ran down. The stairs delivered them up. The ninth floor had stopped having a way off it.
A reservation was a promise. And promises, Ploy had learned, could be re-signed — if you found the pen.
Her own name was struck through. She'd bought it back with the pin. But the list only ever grew downward.
If the chart was the reservation — then the room had a body too. And bodies burn.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.