The morning light was gray, filtering through the bunker's small window. Shen sat at the table, grinding herbs in the stone mortar. The rhythm was steady—push, twist, push, twist. The dried hemostatic leaves crackled under the pestle, releasing a sharp, earthy smell. Jiang was reading her alchemy notes by the lamp, her finger tracing the faded ink. Lin sat on the cot, her short sword across her knees, running a whetstone along the blade in long, slow strokes.
A knock came at the door.
Shen stopped grinding. He wiped his hands on a rag and walked to the door. He didn't open it immediately. He looked through the small peephole—a habit Jiang had taught him. A woman stood outside. Dark uniform. Triangle badge on her chest. Short hair. Calm eyes.
He opened the door.
Su Wanting stood there. Her posture was less rigid than before. She didn't have her folder. Her hands were empty.
"Three days," she said. "You refused to register with the Court."
Shen said nothing. He leaned against the doorframe, blocking the entrance.
"I've been reassigned," she said flatly. "The Court wants results, not paperwork. So I'm trying a different approach." She stepped forward without waiting for an invitation. "Let me join your team. I'll provide maps, intelligence, and help you avoid other Door Court teams. In exchange, I record what happens in the Third Door. Not surveillance. Cooperation."
Jiang looked up from her notes. "Why would you help us?"
"The Door Court needs information about the Third Door. You need to survive. We both get something."
Lin stopped sharpening. "I don't trust her."
"You don't have to," Su Wanting said. "You only have to use me."
Shen studied her for a long moment. He looked at her uniform, her badge, her empty hands. Then he looked back at Jiang, who gave a small nod. Lin still looked suspicious but said nothing. Shen turned back to Su Wanting.
"You can come," he said. "Don't get in the way. Don't touch my things."
Su Wanting stepped inside and sat on a crate near the wall. Her eyes moved across the room—the shelves of herbs, the rows of medicine boxes, the porcelain mask on the table, the diary fragment beside it. She took it all in, quickly and silently. Then she folded her hands in her lap and waited.
The door opened again. Qiang walked in.
His mechanical arm moved smoothly now. The joints made no sound. He had spent days practicing—lifting, grabbing, punching. It still felt strange, but it worked. He walked to Shen.
"Arm works," Qiang said.
Shen nodded. "Good."
"When do we go into the Third Door?"
"When the door pulls us," Shen said. "Could be anytime. Could be tomorrow. Could be the day after. Stay ready."
Qiang nodded. He moved to the corner of the bunker—the far corner, away from Su Wanting—and sat down on an overturned crate. He rested his mechanical arm on his knee and flexed the fingers one by one. He glanced at Su Wanting once, just a quick look, then looked away. She didn't look at him. They were strangers sharing a room, nothing more.
A boy knocked on the bunker door. He was maybe twelve, thin, with dirty hands. He handed Jiang a folded piece of paper and ran off without a word.
Jiang unfolded the paper and read it. "Ye Hongyu. She wants us at the black market this afternoon. Good news, she says."
Shen stood. "We all go."
The black market was in the old drainage tunnels beneath the city. They descended through a boarded-up doorway in an alley, down a narrow staircase that smelled of mildew and old smoke. The air grew damp and cold. Oil lamps flickered on the walls, casting long, jumping shadows.
The tunnels were crowded. Stalls lined the walls, selling everything from salvaged electronics to illegal weapons to strange dried things in glass jars. Vendors shouted over each other. Buyers haggled in low voices. The smell of cooking oil, unwashed bodies, and something sweet and chemical hung in the air.
Su Wanting walked behind the others, her eyes scanning the stalls, the faces, the hidden corners. She didn't speak. She didn't need to. She was watching.
Ye Hongyu's stall was at the end of a narrow passage, where the tunnel opened into a small chamber. She had more space than the other vendors—a proper counter, a lockbox, shelves of neatly arranged goods. She was counting coins when they arrived, her fingers moving quickly.
She looked up, saw Su Wanting, and raised an eyebrow. Her smile didn't fade, but it changed—became sharper.
"Door Court," she said to Shen. "You've got nerve."
"Temporary," Shen said.
Ye Hongyu shrugged. "Your business." She pushed a stack of coins and a wrinkled receipt across the counter. "Three bottles of antidote. Two sold for eighty, one for ninety. After auction fees and my cut, this is yours."
Shen counted the coins. The stack was heavier than he expected. He nodded.
Ye Hongyu pulled out three cloth bags from under the counter. "Fresh herbs. Hemostatic grass, glowing mushroom powder, mist root. Better quality than last time. Price is twenty percent higher."
Shen opened each bag. He held the hemostatic grass up to the light—the leaves were whole, not crushed, a deep green. He dipped a finger into the mushroom powder—fine, no lumps. He sniffed the mist root—sharp, clean, no sign of mold.
"Good," he said. "But twenty percent is too much. Fifteen, plus a small pouch of drowsy herb."
Ye Hongyu smiled. "You're learning." She reached under the counter and added a small paper packet to the pile. "Deal."
Shen paid. He counted the coins again, then pushed them across the counter. Ye Hongyu tucked them into her lockbox and locked it with a small brass key.
She glanced at Su Wanting, then back at Shen. Her voice was calm but pointed. "The Door Court has been buying medicine on the black market. The same kind you make. Watch your back."
Su Wanting showed no reaction. She stared at a shelf across the aisle, pretending not to listen. But her jaw tightened, just a little.
Shen picked up the herbs and the coins. "We will."
Back at the bunker, Shen started a new batch of medicine. He was faster now. The steps came without thinking.
He measured the hemostatic grass by feel, not by sight. He added the glowing mushroom powder in pinches, no longer checking the notebook. He poured water slowly, watching the paste thicken, adjusting as he went. The first batch of ointment came out perfect—smooth, spreadable, the right color.
Lin sat beside him, rolling pain relief pills between her palms. Her fingers were steady now. She had made dozens over the past few days. She could do it without looking. She rolled, set aside, rolled again. The pills were all the same size—roughly that of a dried pea.
Jiang filtered the hemostatic paste through cloth, filling small ceramic boxes. She worked methodically, pouring, twisting, scraping. Her hands were steady. She didn't spill a drop.
Qiang practiced opening and closing his mechanical fist. He stayed in his corner, not bothering anyone. He opened his hand wide, then curled his fingers into a fist. Open. Close. Open. Close. The joints made a soft clicking sound, but the movement was smooth.
Su Wanting sat against the wall, a small notebook open on her knee. She wrote occasionally, her eyes moving from person to person. She watched Lin's hands, Jiang's method, Qiang's mechanical arm, and Shen's concentration. She wrote something, then stopped, then wrote again.
Shen set down the last bottle of antidote. The liquid was pale yellow, clear, with no sediment. He corked it and lined it up with the others.
Jiang looked at the group. "We've been working together, but we've never talked about our marks. Before the door pulls us in, we should know what each of us can do. So we don't get in each other's way."
Shen nodded. He wiped his hands on a rag and stood.
"My mark is on my palm. Triangle." He held up his hand. The mark was dark, almost invisible in the dim light, but when he flexed his fingers, it pulsed faintly. "I can see weak points and traps. I can also push my body harder for a short time. Faster, stronger. It takes a lot out of me. I can't do it often."
Jiang touched her chest, just below her collarbone. "Key mark. I heal wounds. Not instantly, but fast. Cuts close, broken bones knit, poison slows. I can also sense danger—like a feeling, a warning. And I can move small things without touching them." She picked up a fallen leaf from the table and made it float across the room. "Not much use in a fight, but it helps."
Lin held up her short sword. The mark on the hilt glowed faintly, a soft blue light. "My mark is on the blade. Without it, I can't enter the door. The sword is my anchor." She turned the blade, watching the light shift. "With it, I move faster, react quicker. I can also close distance in an instant—like a step, but faster than a step. And I can put all my strength into one strike. It hurts, but it hits hard."
Qiang raised his right arm. "Shield mark." He tapped his chest. "I take less damage. Bullets, blades, claws—I feel them less. If I stand still and brace, I take even less." He looked at his mechanical left arm. "And I can take a hit meant for someone else. Step in front, take the blow. This helps now." He flexed the mechanical fingers. "It can block, too."
All eyes turned to Su Wanting.
She closed her notebook. She didn't stand. She stayed against the wall, her back straight.
"My mark is Door Court issue. It's on my wrist." She pulled back her sleeve, revealing a small silver circle. "It lets me lock a target in place for a few seconds. They can't move. They can't attack. They just… stop. The stronger the target, the shorter the lock. A normal person, maybe five seconds. A door monster? I don't know. Maybe one second. Maybe less. It costs a lot of energy. I can do it maybe twice a day, then I'm useless."
"Can it work on door monsters?" Shen asked.
"I don't know. I've never tried."
Jiang's eyes lingered on the notebook for a moment longer than necessary. Su Wanting noticed. She slid the notebook into her pocket without breaking eye contact.
The lamp burned low. The flame flickered, casting shadows on the walls. Shen looked at the others.
"The door will pull us in when it's ready. Could be tonight. Could be tomorrow. Could be the day after. We stay ready."
Su Wanting spoke. "Door Court monitoring shows the Third Door will open within the next few days. No exact time. But soon."
Qiang stood. "I'll take first watch." He walked to the door and leaned against the frame, looking out into the dark. He didn't look at anyone in particular.
Lin picked up her sword. "I'll sharpen this again." She sat on the cot and drew the whetstone along the blade in long, slow strokes.
Jiang began folding bandages—neat squares, stacked on the table. She worked without thinking, her hands moving on their own.
Shen sat back down. He picked up the mortar and pestle and started grinding. The rhythm was steady. Push, twist, push, twist. The sound filled the bunker.
Su Wanting walked outside. The night air was cool. She moved to the shadow of the bunker, away from the light. She pressed a small communicator—a black rectangle with a single button.
"I'm in," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Four targets. Marks recorded. They're preparing for the Third Door. The Door Court has been buying medicine on the black market. That may be connected. More later."
She released the button and slipped the communicator back into her pocket. She stood in the dark for a moment, looking up at the stars. Then she walked back inside.
The grinding continued. No one spoke. Lin's whetstone scraped the blade. Jiang folded another bandage. Qiang watched the street.
The silence was not empty.