Chapter 13 · The Red Door Knows Her Name

Ivy's standing in the new tunnel with her knife out and her breathing too loud in her ears. The wall came down maybe thirty seconds ago. Dust's still settling. And there's a handprint at the far end, dark and wet, leading to a door she's never seen before.

Red door. Not mall-standard beige or safety-code yellow. Red like someone painted it in a hurry and didn't care about the drips.

"Don't." Noah's voice comes through crackling, like he's pushing through interference. "Ivy, that door wasn't on any blueprint I've got. I can't see past it."

"Then I'm going in." She moves before he can argue, boots crunching on broken tile. The handprint's still tacky. Fresh. She knows the size of Eli's hands. Watched him wrap them around her wrists when she was twelve and trying to climb the overpass fence. This is his.

"Ivy—"

"He's bleeding. He's right there."

She hits the door hard, shoulder first. It doesn't budge. The handle's old brass, the kind that needs a real key, and when she grabs it the metal's warm. Not hot. Just body temperature. Like someone's been holding it from the other side.

She rattles it. Nothing.