The Door Sealed Behind Me

I kept thinking that if the fire door held, the ventilation warnings would become an ordinary emergency. People would gather outside, someone sensible would call the fire department, and I could step back into daylight with Solomon’s copied header safe inside my jacket. The fire door did not hold.

There is a particular kind of panic in hearing machinery stop. One second the welder is loud enough to hurt, and the next there is nothing but the stale air pressing against my face. Silence did not feel like a victory. It felt like Felix had finished building a box around us.

I wanted to be furious with Anthea for restoring my suspension and then denouncing me where everyone could hear. Part of me was already composing the defence: I did not abandon Tamsin. I am here. I have the evidence. Then the uglier answer arrived. I abandoned Tamsin every time I chose the next wish instead of the discomfort of staying. Public courage is easier when it comes with a deadline and an exit.

My phone signal dropping to one bar made the corridor absurdly large. I kept checking whether the hearing attendees were still listening, whether my copied header meant anything now that the route to the records alcove might be sealed. I imagined the altered order being discovered later, neatly explained by someone braver.

I am scared of the air, but I am more scared of admitting that I could stay in a bad situation because leaving is the talent I have built my whole life around.