The morning light was gray and thin, filtering through the bunker's small window. Shen had not slept much. He sat on the cot, the porcelain mask on his lap. Jiang was already awake, reading her alchemy notes by the lamp.
"I'm going to find Qiang," Shen said, standing.
Jiang nodded. "The compass." She handed him the brass seeker compass from the drawer.
Shen took it and left without another word.
The streets of East Float Island were already busy. Shen walked southeast, following the compass needle. It led him to the old district, where buildings leaned against each other. He found the hotel—a narrow three-story building with a faded sign. The owner pointed to a room on the second floor.
Shen knocked. The door opened after a long pause.
Qiang stood in the doorway. His left shoulder was wrapped in fresh bandages, and his right hand hung at his side. Dark circles ringed his eyes. He hadn't slept. When he saw Shen, his brow furrowed.
"How did you find me?" Qiang asked. His voice was rough, but not hostile. Just tired.
Shen held up the brass compass. "This can find anyone, if you know their name. I used yours."
Qiang looked at the compass, then at Shen. He nodded and stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him. "Where are we going?"
"Someone who can install that arm." Shen pointed to the mechanical arm Qiang had tucked under his right arm.
They walked in silence. The only sounds were their footsteps and the distant hum of the city.
Old Chen's shop was at the edge of the market district, a cluttered space filled with tools and scrap metal. The old merchant was behind the counter. When he saw Shen, he nodded.
"Back already?" Old Chen's eyes fell on Qiang's stump. "I see."
"This is Qiang," Shen said. "He needs that installed." He pointed to the mechanical arm.
Old Chen took the arm, turning it over. "Spirit iron. Good quality. But I'm not a real mechanic. There's a man I trust. Zhao Tiesheng. Used to work for Starlight Industries before he lost his hand. Now he does custom work."
"Can you take us to him?" Shen asked.
Old Chen nodded. "He's not far. Wang Mei, watch the shop."
Wang Mei, who had been sweeping the back room, looked up. "Yes, Uncle Chen."
Old Chen led them to a small workshop built into the side of an old warehouse. The sign read "Zhao Tiesheng Mechanics". Inside, a man stood at a workbench. He wore a stained apron, and his left hand was a mechanical prosthetic—spirit iron, well-maintained, with visible joints. His hair was gray, streaked with black, and burn scars covered the left side of his face.
"Tiesheng," Old Chen called. "Customers."
Zhao turned. His eyes were sharp. He looked at Qiang's stump, then at the mechanical arm.
"Spirit iron," he said. "Where did you get it?"
"The door," Shen said.
Zhao grunted. He examined the arm, flexing the fingers, checking the joints. "Good craftsmanship. Not local. You want this attached?"
"Yes," Qiang said. His first word of the day.
Zhao looked at Qiang's shoulder. "The curse marks will stay. The arm will seal them, but they won't heal. You understand?"
Qiang nodded.
"The cost is three hundred Door Guard coins. Or equal value in materials. Spirit iron ore, rare herbs, door artifacts—I take those too."
Shen checked his pockets. He had less than a hundred coins. "I don't have enough cash."
Zhao crossed his arms. "Then what do you have?"
Shen thought for a moment. "I'm going into the Third Door soon. I can bring you a piece of spirit iron ore. Raw, unrefined."
Zhao's eyes narrowed. "The Third Door? That's a death trap for most. How do I know you'll come back?"
"He will," Old Chen said. "I vouch for him."
Zhao looked at Old Chen, then back at Shen. "Fine. One piece of spirit iron ore. But you have three months. If you don't deliver, you owe me a job—no questions asked. I have some equipment that needs repair in a dangerous area. You do that for me, free."
Shen hesitated. "What kind of dangerous area?"
"Nothing suicidal. But it's not safe for an old man like me. You're young. You have a mark. You'll manage."
Shen nodded. "Deal."
Zhao extended his right hand. Shen shook it.
"Sit down," Zhao said, pointing to a chair. "This will take a couple of hours."
Qiang sat. Zhao prepared a syringe. "Local anesthetic. Try not to move."
The needle went in. Qiang's jaw tightened, but he didn't make a sound.
Zhao worked quickly. He removed the old bandages, cleaned the wound, and fitted the socket of the mechanical arm over Qiang's stump. Old Chen handed him tools—clamps, screwdrivers, and a small welding torch. Wang Mei had followed and stood quietly in the corner.
The metal was cold against Qiang's skin. Zhao adjusted the alignment, connected the nerve sensors, and sealed the socket.
"Try to move it," Zhao said.
Qiang concentrated. The fingers twitched. Then the whole hand curled into a fist. He opened and closed his hand several times. The movements were jerky, but they worked.
"It'll take time," Zhao said. "Practice lifting things. Start light. Come back in a week if it hurts."
Qiang looked at his new left arm. "Thank you," he said to Zhao, then to Shen.
Shen nodded. "You can stay at Old Chen's to practice."
Old Chen shrugged. "He can sleep in the back. Wang Mei will show you."
Wang Mei stepped forward. "Follow me." She led Qiang out.
Shen turned to Zhao. "The ore—I'll bring it as soon as I can."
"You'd better," Zhao said.
Meanwhile, Jiang had left the bunker and made her way to the black market.
The entrance was a boarded-up doorway in an alley. She pushed through a loose panel and descended a narrow staircase. The air grew damp and cold. Below, the black market sprawled through old drainage tunnels, lit by oil lamps.
Stalls lined the walls. Jiang ignored them. She was looking for herbs.
She found a stall with shelves of dried plants and glass jars. The woman behind it wore a black coat and a high ponytail. Her eyes were sharp, but she smiled easily.
"Looking for something?" the woman asked.
"Healing herbs. Hemostatic grass, glowing mushroom, mist root."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Those are hard to find. Expensive." She pulled out small pouches. "Fresh from the door edges. I risked my neck for these."
Jiang examined them. They looked genuine. "How much?"
The woman named a price—higher than the surface market, but not outrageous. Jiang counted out her coins.
"You're a doctor?" the woman asked.
"Something like that."
The woman's eyes dropped to Jiang's wrist. "That mark on your hand… is it from the door?"
Jiang pulled her sleeve down. "What's it to you?"
"Relax. I'm not Door Guard. But people with those marks bring back interesting loot. I'm a merchant. I like interesting things." She pushed an extra pouch across the counter. "Aconite extract. Good for pain. On the house."
Jiang didn't take it immediately. "Why?"
"Business investment. You go into doors, you bring back things I can sell. I pay better than the Guard's tax." She handed over a metal card. "Ye Hongyu. Call me when you need to sell."
Jiang took the card and left. Ye Hongyu turned back to her stall.
At the Old Dawn hideout, Lin trained in the dusty library. She swung her short sword at a wooden post, practicing thrusts and cuts. Sweat soaked her shirt.
Her uncle sat at the table, watching her. After a while, she stopped.
"The Door Guard is preparing," her uncle said. "They're sending a team into the Third Door. They're watching you."
Lin gripped her sword. "I don't care. I'm going in with Shen."
Her uncle nodded slowly. "Then be ready. The theater changes. Maps only help so much." He handed her a small leather pouch. "Iron rations. Three days."
Lin took it. "Thank you."
"Just come back."
Back in the bunker, Shen sat at the table. Jiang returned with herbs. She told him about Ye Hongyu.
"She gave me her card. Said she buys door loot. Just business."
Shen took the card. "We might need her later."
Jiang sorted the herbs. "How did it go with Qiang?"
"The arm is on. He's staying at Zhao's to practice. I owe Zhao a piece of spirit iron ore. If I don't deliver in three months, I have to do a job for him."
Jiang sat down across from him. "You've been quiet. More than usual."
Shen picked up the mask, then set it down. "My mother is in that theater. Third row, seventh seat. I saw her profile last night."
"That's not what I meant."
Jiang set her notes aside. "When we were in the door, you didn't hesitate. Not once. You act as if you've already decided you're not coming back."
"I'm coming back."
"Are you? I've seen that look before. On people who don't expect to survive."
Shen was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "I don't know what's waiting in the Third Door. But I know what's waiting for me if I don't go. The same question, every night. The same empty answer."
"And if you find her? Then what?"
Shen had no answer.
Jiang leaned back. "I think about my sister sometimes. Not every day. But sometimes. I wonder if she'd be proud of me."
"She would."
"Neither have you wasted anything." Jiang stood and walked to the stove. She poured hot water into two cups and brought one to Shen. "We're not just our ghosts. We're also the people who keep going after they're gone."
Shen took the cup. The warmth seeped into his palms.
"Don't forget that you're allowed to want things for yourself too. Not just for her."
Shen looked at her. For a moment, something unspoken passed between them. Then he looked away.
"I'll remember," he said.
Jiang sat back down. She picked up her alchemy notes again, but her eyes stayed on the page without moving.
The lamp flickered. Outside, the sun climbed higher, but the bunker remained cool and dim.