Dexion found it on the twenty-fourth day.
He was exploring the middle level — the section of buildings they had not yet entered. Building nine. Building ten. Building eleven. Each one catalogued by Deia, numbered, measured. Most were empty. Living quarters. Storage rooms. Meeting halls.
Building twelve was different.
The door was not stone. It was metal — the same dark material as the wall at the lowest level. No symbols on the surface. No handle. No mechanism. Just a seam where the metal met the stone frame.
Dexion pushed. Nothing. He pressed his shoulder against it. The door did not move.
Echion came. They stood side by side. Echion braced his feet against the opposite wall. Dexion braced against the frame. They pushed together — shoulder and shoulder, the way they had pushed everything since they were children on the western perimeter.
