Shape That Wasn’t There

Hazel stood silently in the hallway, her hand resting against the worn frame of the door that led to the archives room. The others had gone ahead — Kai, Sienna, and Cairo — each drawn deeper into the building by instinct, memory, or mission. But Hazel had paused, unsure why.

There was a humming. Faint, irregular, like an unfinished thought. It didn’t come from the lights — they had long since gone dead — but from somewhere underneath. Below the floorboards. Inside the walls.

She stepped in slowly. Shelves lined with rusted binders and discolored paper greeted her, but they weren’t what caught her eye. There was a space in the corner where something should have been. A cabinet, perhaps. A heater. A fixture torn out hastily.

But the absence pulsed.

Hazel reached for her notebook, flipping to a blank page. She scrawled a single phrase: “The shape that wasn’t there.”

Behind her, a small voice spoke.

“You feel it too?”

She turned. Cero stood in the doorway, wide-eyed but calm, his little fingers wrapped around the strap of his field pack. He had insisted on being useful. Now, Hazel understood why.

“I think something used to be here,” she said gently, crouching to his level.

Cero nodded. “I think it still is. Just… not the way we see things.”

Hazel exhaled slowly, letting his words settle.

He stepped forward and touched the air, right where the cabinet once stood. A flicker of warmth buzzed through the room. Not heat — presence.

They looked at each other. No need for questions now.

Together, they began to map the outline of what was missing.