Chapter 23
The hallway was unnaturally silent as Lionel raced down it.
The silence didn’t feel like the absence of sound.
It felt like something had swallowed it whole.
His footsteps pounded against the floor, but even those were muffled.
His legs were shaking with each step, muscles tight with adrenaline, and by the time he reached the stairwell and started to climb, he wasn’t sure they’d carry him all the way.
His breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, burning at the back of his throat.
Mads had looked so peaceful as he slept—serene, almost tender.
Not at all like a monster. Not like something ancient and terrible that had wrapped its limbs around Lionel and whispered ‘I love you’ with a fond look on his face.
And maybe that’s what made it worse. Lionel had felt the warmth in that smile, had let himself be lulled into it, and maybe that was what made leaving now so crucial.
He needed to know—needed to prove—that he still had a choice.
That he wasn’t trapped by the weight of Mads’s love or his own.
Lionel had laid there for a long time, just watching him. Just feeling his warmth. But eventually, he’d moved, slowly, and carefully to not wake Mads up. He’d only paused once to slide the gun back into his belt. It felt cold against his spine, grounding. Then, he’d slipped out the door.
He didn’t allow himself time to second-guess.
If he did, he might turn around. He might climb back into that bed.
The stairwell was narrow and choked with heat.
The building itself seemed to push him down, to challenge him: Are you really willing to leave?
Each flight he climbed felt steeper than the last, as though the building was trying to drag him down, force him back.
His heart thundered in his chest. He counted off the landings in his head—tenth floor, eleventh. Roof Access: Employees Only.
The sign was bolted to the wall above a battered steel door with a heavy lock. He stared at it for a heartbeat too long, hoping irrationally that it would just open. That if there really was an exit, Mads hadn’t lied.
When it didn’t, Lionel squared his jaw. It only took a few good kicks, the crunch of old metal weakening with each impact. Then, as frustration and panic crested in his throat, he drew the gun, pressed the barrel to the lock, and fired.
The sound was thunderous. The flash lit the stairwell, and then silence returned, heavier than before. The door groaned open under his hand.
Lionel stepped outside and nearly collapsed. The cold air hit him hard. For a single, terrible moment, he thought he’d gone blind. But no, his eyes were open. He was seeing something. He just didn’t understand what.
Above him stretched an endless expanse of black, not the gentle black of night, but the kind of black that sucked light into it and crushed it.
Stars didn’t blink in the distance, no wind stirred, there was no city skyline, and no distant hum of traffic.
There was only the sound of his own breathing, ragged and too loud, and the faint hum of something ancient pressing against the edges of the world.
He gagged, nearly doubling over. It felt like the darkness was reaching into him, clawing through his chest, winding itself around his ribs.
It wasn’t just above him; it was around him and inside him.
He took a shaky step forward, then another.
The concrete beneath his feet was solid, but it felt like it floated in the middle of nowhere.
As he walked, Lionel swore the darkness shifted, coiled tighter.
He could feel it winding around his arms, brushing against the back of his neck.
His footsteps echoed once and then stopped, cut short as the sound was swallowed whole.
He didn’t know what he expected to find up here, maybe a hatch, a glowing portal or something bright and beckoning, yelling exit here!
But there was only more roof, more emptiness, more pressure, as if the void wanted to crawl down his throat and nest there.
He kept walking, trying to remember Mads’ words. The ventilation exhaust. The one with the grate. If you want to leave me, I won’t stop you.
Lionel forced himself to continue, even though every nerve in his body screamed at him to stop. The weight of the void pressed harder with each step, but still, he made it to the first ventilation exhaust, its rusted metal frame sticking out of the concrete like a broken bone.
He knelt, fingers trembling as he grabbed hold of the top grate.
The metal was ice-cold, as though it had been left out in the dead of winter, and jagged against his palms. He clenched his teeth and strained, muscles burning, until finally the bolts gave way with a screech.
The grate came free and clattered to the side with a sound far too loud for the oppressive stillness of the rooftop.
When Lionel leaned over to peer inside, he saw nothing but darkness. Not the same alive, gnawing darkness that blanketed the sky, but ordinary blackness leading down to an empty shaft. His frown deepened.
He stood and turned to the next one, then the next. There were several across the rooftop—unsurprising, given the building's size—but one by one, he opened them, the grates groaning and clattering behind him, and found nothing. Each empty vent made the cold in his chest expand.
His hands were scraped and bleeding by the time he reached the the one furthest from the door, tucked near the corner where the building’s edges blurred into the void. He paused, wiping his palms on his jeans. The darkness here… felt different—quieter, still terrible, but less suffocating.
Then came the wind. A low, sudden gust that curled past his ears, lifting his hair, slipping beneath his collar. Lionel’s breath hitched. He didn’t have to look up to know what he’d see.
Mads stood a few feet beyond the vent, silhouetted by the not-sky.
His expression was impossible to read from a distance—just the barest shape of him carved out in gray.
But the wind didn’t move his clothes. His hair didn’t flutter.
He stood as still as stone, like the rooftop itself had grown him from the concrete.
Lionel stopped in his tracks, about a dozen feet away. The space between them felt cavernous. His hands were still clenched at his sides, aching from the effort of forcing those vents open. He swallowed hard, eyes searching Mads’ face for some hint of rage or betrayal. But Mads didn’t look angry.
He looked heartbroken.
A sad, weary smile touched his lips. “You want to leave?” he asked softly, like he already knew the answer.
Lionel opened his mouth, but for a moment, nothing came out. The air felt too sharp in his lungs, his throat too tight. He thought of the gun tucked into his belt, of the blood on his hands, and of the warmth of Mads’ chest against his back just an hour ago.
“I’m not sure,” Lionel breathed. It was the truth. Lionel wasn’t sure what he wanted to do.
The question sat in his chest, unmoving and cold.
He tried to picture a future, but both paths stretched out like fogged glass.
Staying with Mads? He couldn’t even begin to fathom what that would mean.
What would the days look like? Would they stay in the apartment forever, wrapped in silence and strange touches, feeding off each other’s presence until the world outside ceased to exist?
He didn’t know. And he was afraid to ask.
But the alternative—returning to “normal”—felt just as unreal.
What would he even return to? His apartment was a cave of hand-me-down furniture and unopened mail.
His job, if it was still waiting for him after all this, was something he barely cared about when he had it.
His friends had stopped checking in months ago, tired of getting half-hearted replies.
His love life was a wasteland, and his dreams vanished the moment they began to take shape.
Both futures were question marks in his mind; the echoes of a life that didn’t quite belong to him anymore.
“You can leave if you want to,” Mads said beside him, voice steady and quiet. “I won’t stop you.”
Lionel looked at him sharply. “Why?”
Mads met his gaze evenly. “Because I want you to be happy,” he said simply. As if it were obvious, as if it were that easy. “And if leaving will make you happy, then you can go.”
Lionel looked away, jaw tight. “I more just… wanted to see if it existed,” he muttered. “The way out.”
Mads didn’t respond right away. He just turned toward the final vent and crouched beside it, waving Lionel forward. His long fingers slipped beneath the lip of the metal and pulled the top off with ease. The grate landed soundlessly on the concrete beside him.
Lionel approached slowly, heart knocking against his ribs. Mads pointed down into the shaft. Lionel leaned over, and what he saw made his stomach drop. Inside, tucked into the metal guts of the building was a door.
A real door. Old and wooden, with a heavy iron handle and deep gouges in the frame like claw marks.
It looked like it belonged to a centuries-old cathedral or an abandoned cottage, not the ductwork of a modern building.
There was something deeply wrong about it.
The wood was too dark, almost black, and warped in places as though it had been exposed to some strange pressure.
And yet, it didn’t move, didn’t breathe, it was just quietly ominous and waiting.
Lionel’s voice came out smaller than he expected. “If I leave…” He hesitated. “I’ll never see you again?”
Mads didn’t sugarcoat it. “Probably not,” he said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be able to perform another ritual for a minimum of forty or fifty human years.”
Lionel swallowed hard. By then, he’d be old. Whatever this was—whatever tether they had between them—it would be gone.
He stared down at the door again. His hand drifted toward the handle, but he didn’t touch it. It was real. It existed.
“And if I stay with you?” Lionel asked, turning to Mads. They were close enough that he could reach out and touch him, could wind his arms around him and keep them there forever. “If I stay with you… what will happen?”
“I’ll protect you,” Mads whispered. “I’ll keep you safe with me for as long as you want me to.” He leaned forward until their breaths intertwined between them.
Lionel licked his lips, eyes flicking back and forth between Mads and the exit door.
“If you want to go, I won’t stop you,” he repeated. “But if you want to stay, I promise I’ll treasure you forever.” Mads raised a hand to cup Lionel’s cheek. “It’s up to you.”
Lionel shut his eyes for a moment. When he peeled them open, he looked down the vent again to the door that seemed to be beckoning to him. When he looked back over at Mads, he was smiling gently at him. “Okay,” Lionel whispered.