Page 16 of Zenith Tower

He looked as if he meant to argue. I touched his wrist before he could.

“I need to move,” I said quietly. “I won’t be long.”

The attendant at the end of our corridor barely glanced at the pitcher. She pointed me toward a stair that curved down to the kitchens and returned to the ledger in her lap.

I followed her directions until the first landing.

A narrow passage opened behind the stair, half concealed by the curve of the wall. No attendant sat beside it. The water-light inside was brighter than the light on the kitchen stairs, and the walls beyond had the pale, reflective sheen I remembered from the intake rooms.

I stepped into the passage.

The empty pitcher was the only excuse I had. I held it close to my side and kept moving, listening for voices. The passage bent once, then opened onto a high gallery overlooking a hollow cut through the center of the mountain.

Across the hollow, glass-fronted rooms descended in tier after tier. Silver water-light climbed the panes and broke across them, laying pale reflections over beds, chairs, and human faces. The hum of the channels rose from somewhere far below, deep enough that I felt it through the soles of my shoes.

People lived in the rooms.

A woman with close-shorn hair sat on the edge of a bed, staring at her bare feet. Farther down, a man walked the same short path from wall to wall, turning before his shoulder touched either side. A boy no older than fourteen lay curled beside the glass with one palm pressed against it.

There were rooms below them and more below those, fading into silver darkness.

These were not rooms meant for a few days of questions. The man’s path had worn a lighter band across the floor. The woman’s wall held a row of marks too distant for me to read. Someone had scratched a name into the frame beside the boy’s hand.

I moved to the low stone rail.

The letters were too small from across the hollow. I leaned over the rail, searching for an angle that might bring them clear.

“You won’t find Delphine Moreau from here.”

Marrow stood at the entrance to the gallery.

I nearly dropped the pitcher. My fingers tightened around its handle before it could slip.

Two stewards waited behind him. Neither looked surprised to see me.

“I didn’t say I was looking for Delphine.”

“You didn’t need to.”

He walked toward me. The people behind the glass did not look up. The pacing man reached the wall, turned, and started back.

“Is she here?” I asked.

“I will direct you to the kitchens.”

“Is Delphine in this building?”

Marrow stopped a few feet away. “Residents of the Tower are not discussed with other residents.”

“Then why did you say her name?”

He didn’t answer.

Behind the glass, the boy’s hand remained against the pane.

“Does his family know where he is?”

Marrow followed my gaze. “Return to your assigned corridor.”