I found Pell Graves in the late shift.
Deep Floor 1's cataloging section was a grid of silent aisles, each row holding spines of completed records waiting for final filing. No combat classes here. Just the soft shuffle of feet, the occasional whisper of a spine being slid into its slot, the low hum of a Codex updating a log.
Pell was at the end of aisle seven.
Thin shoulders under a standard-issue gray tunic, hair a nondescript brown, fingers stained with ink at the tips. He was checking a spine against his Codex, his movements precise and practiced. A D-Rank Cataloger, exactly as described. He filed record-spines and went home.
I waited until he finished the row.
When he turned toward the next aisle, I stepped into his path, holding my own Codex open to a blank log page. "Shift notes," I said. My voice was flat, the tone of someone exchanging routine information. "Heard you work the late rotation. Trying to cross-reference a filing anomaly from last week."
He flinched.
A tightening of the shoulders, a quick glance over his own shoulder. His eyes darted to my Codex, then to my face. He didn't recognize me. Good.
"I—I'm behind," he said. His voice was higher than I expected, strained. "Supervisor said no cross-referencing until the backlog clears."
"This is unofficial." I kept my Codex raised, a shield of plausible bureaucracy. "Two minutes. The anomaly's on Deep Two. Your access log shows you were there three days ago."
His breath hitched.
He looked past me, down the empty aisle. His fingers tightened around the spine he was holding.
"I don't have access anymore," he said, too quickly.
"I know." I lowered my Codex slightly. "Mine was revoked too. That's why I'm asking."
A lie, of course. I'd never had Deep Two access. But the fear in his eyes was real, and fear makes people believe the first story that mirrors their own.
He swallowed. "You got the warnings too?"
"What warnings."
"The status review." He tapped his Codex, which was tucked against his hip. "Intermittent. Says 'Under Review.' No explanation. They took my access the next day."
I nodded, as if this was expected. "Filed a complaint?"
"The Association took it." A bitter, hollow laugh escaped him. "Received and noted. That's all. No follow-up. No nothing."
Not just nervous—properly, deeply scared. He knew something was wrong, and had no way to fix it.
"What happened on Deep Two?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I can't—"
"They already revoked your access. They're already reviewing your status. What more can they do?" I kept my voice low, reasonable. "If we both report the same anomaly, maybe they have to listen."
Another lie. I had no intention of reporting anything.
He stared at me for a long moment. His eyes were pale, watery. Then he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"There was a door," he said. "Unlabeled. Not on any map. I was cataloging section seven, the old litigation archives. The spine index was off by one. I followed the discrepancy."
He paused, licking his lips. His gaze kept darting to the end of the aisle.
"The door was at the end of a dead-end corridor. No lock. Just… a door. I opened it."
"What was inside?"
"A room. Empty. Almost empty." He swallowed again. "One record-spine on a stand in the center. No label. No date. Just… blank."
"You touched it."
He nodded, a jerky motion. "My Codex activated. Displayed text. But not any script I know. It was… core zone text, I think. Fragments. I couldn't read it. It flashed for maybe two seconds, then vanished."
Core zone text. The same script that sometimes flickered at the edge of my own Codex overlays.
"Did you copy it?"
"No. I was—I panicked. I closed the door. I reported it to my supervisor. Standard protocol for an unindexed find."
"And two days later your access was revoked."
"Yes." His voice was barely audible now. "And my Codex log from that shift is being 'audited.' They took it. I have no proof. Nothing. Just the memory."
Just a frightened Cataloger and a story that would sound like paranoia to anyone who hadn't seen the edges of the system themselves.
"Did you tell anyone else?" I asked.
"No. Who would I tell?" He looked at me, and for a second, the fear shifted into something sharper—accusation. "You're not really here for shift notes, are you?"
I didn't answer.
He took a step back. "Who are you?"
"Someone who also has a status under review," I said. It wasn't a lie. My entire existence was a classification anomaly waiting to be filed. "Did the text fragment repeat? Any pattern?"
"No. Just once." He hesitated. "But… there was a number. At the end. Before it vanished."
"What number."
"Four." He said it like a confession. "Just the numeral. Four."
Deep Floor 4.
Sera's dead drop had pointed to Deep Floor 4. The unfiled archive. Kaelen Voss's last intact site.
The pieces didn't fit together yet, but they were starting to occupy the same area of the board.
Pell was watching me, his fear hardening into suspicion. "You're not going to report anything."
"No," I said.
"Then why—"
"Because they're erasing it," I said. "And I need to know what it is before it's gone."
He stared at me. I saw the calculation in his eyes—the risk of talking to a stranger, the risk of staying silent, the certain, grinding fear of the status review hanging over him. He opened his mouth, then closed it.
His Codex chimed.
He flinched, pulling it from his hip. The screen glowed pale blue. He read it, and the color drained from his face.
"What is it?" I asked.
He didn't answer. He just turned the screen toward me.
A single line of text, clean and official.
`[NOTICE: Your Classification Review has been scheduled. Inspector Calder Vane will conduct your assessment tomorrow, 0900 hours. Prepare your Codex logs for full audit.]`
Pell's hand was shaking. "He's here already," he whispered. "Inspector Vane. He's on Deep Floor 1. I saw him an hour ago, walking the west stacks."
Pell found the door three days ago. His access was revoked. His status flagged. Now an inspector was here, moving fast.
Too fast.
"You need to leave," I said.
"I can't. If I miss the review, they'll classify me as non-compliant. That's automatic erasure."
"If you attend the review, they'll ask about the door. About the spine. What will you tell them?"
"The truth."
"They'll erase you anyway." I kept my voice level. "An unindexed find on Deep Two? Core zone text? You think they'll let you walk away with that in your memory?"
I could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, in the defeated drop of his chin.
"Where would I go?" he asked.
I didn't have one. The Archive was a closed system. Only deeper in, or erased.
His Codex chimed again. Another message.
He looked at it, and this time, he didn't show me. He just went very still.
"What now?" I asked.
He swallowed. "It's a follow-up. From the Inspector's office." His voice was hollow. "They've requested my presence for a preliminary interview. Tonight. In thirty minutes."
They were moving now.
Pell looked at me, his eyes wide. "What do I do?"
I had no stake in this. Pell Graves was a stranger. A D-Rank Cataloger with average skills and no combat ambitions. Helping him would gain me nothing. It would draw Calder Vane's attention directly to me.
All rational reasons to walk away.
I thought of my sister. Three years missing. Last seen on a Deep Floor operation. No one helped her. She was just filed away under "presumed dead."
I looked at Pell's shaking hands.
"Don't go to the interview," I said.
"They'll come find me."
"Then don't be here."
"Where—"
"Deep Floor 2," I said.
He stared at me. "I don't have access."
"I know." I turned, starting back down the aisle. "Stay in the stacks. Move every hour. Don't use your Codex. I'll find a way to get you out."
"Why?" The word was a breath behind me.
I didn't answer. I didn't have one that made sense.
I was already walking, my mind mapping the routes, the blind spots, the timing. I needed to pull Calder Vane's attention away from the cataloging section.
And I needed to see that door for myself.
The ledger had just added a line I couldn't afford.