Darkness swallowed the steam.

It wasn’t a clean darkness, it was heavy, living, a curtain that moved when they breathed. The kind that clung to the skin and turned every drop of water into something deliberate. It pressed in on Noa like a wet palm, muffling sound, bending space, making the tiled walls feel closer than they were.

No sound but water dripping. Slow. Uneven. A broken metronome keeping time with his pulse.

No shape but the outline of bodies moving closer.

“Noa?” Julian’s ...