The Blueprint Left Behind

The hum of the vent was the only constant noise.

A low, rattling breath drawn through an unseen throat, pulsing faintly through the walls and ceiling. I listened to it. Counted the seconds between each stutter, each pitch shift. Even noise had a rhythm, and I needed rhythm to think.

I sat up.

The cuffs around my wrists were the older kind—titanium alloy, analog locks. No security link. No failsafe override. Just steel and screws. No skill could unlock them, and that was the point.

My arms ached.

My legs were sore.

But my head—my head was clear. For now.

There were no guards inside. No cameras I could see. No red lights blinking in the corners. Just me, the pale glow of an overhead fixture, and a tray of food by the far wall, untouched. The bread had gone stiff. The soup was a film of grease.

I focused on the silence.

Not the absence of sound—but its shape.