Sam had grown used to silence. Two months of it. The sound of lava falling in endless streams, the grind of pistons and redstone humming through the obsidian walls, the occasional muffled laugh of Quackity when he came to feed off Dream’s suffering. Those were the only sounds Pandora’s Vault allowed. Even his own voice had grown strange to him. Rusted. Unnatural. He rarely spoke more than a handful of words a day. Sometimes not at all. So when the portal lit up on the outer platform, and her name was the one that came through—Naomi—he froze. For a long while he just sat at his desk, staring at the obsidian walls, the way the lava reflected off them. Maybe he’d imagined it. Maybe he’d finally gone too far into silence and was hearing ghosts. But then her name repeated, firm, clear. And Sam’s hands shook before he forced them still. It had been six years. Six years since she disappeared. Since she chose to walk away from L’Manberg, from Wilbur, from Tommy, from him. Six years of no explanation, no note, nothing. And now she was here, standing in front of him like nothing had happened. He made himself calm before she arrived. That was his job now: calm, methodical, unshakable. The Guardian of Pandora’s Vault. His emotions weren’t supposed to exist anymore. But when Naomi stood at the other side of his desk, obsidian eyes staring straight through him, his throat tightened. She didn’t falter. Didn’t smile. Didn’t soften. She just read the rules back to him, word for word, in that formal, steady voice of hers. Signed the contracts with elegant strokes. Handed the books back with both hands, respectful as if nothing was wrong. And Sam… Sam nodded, explained the protocols, walked her through the steps, voice calm as stone. But it was forced. He knew it. She probably knew it too. Because underneath every word, his mind was screaming: Where were you? Why didn’t you say goodbye? Why did you leave us? Why did you leave me? When he escorted her across the bridge into the final chamber—the obsidian box, lava spilling down around it like a maw—he thought the weight of the world might crush him. Dream sat in the shadows inside, mask half-shattered, head lowered. His eyes flicked up when Naomi entered. Something passed between them. Sam didn’t know what. Didn’t want to know. He just stood in his post, hands clasped behind his back, trying not to drown in the sound of lava and the feeling that his chest might collapse. The visit was long. Dream spoke. Naomi listened, and they seemed to be planning something. Sam couldn’t hear most of it, but he didn’t need to. All that mattered was how calm she stayed, how easily she carried herself in the place that had been suffocating him for months. And then, just as suddenly as she’d come, she was walking back out. Across the bridges. Back toward the front desk where he waited. Sam straightened his back, forced himself to look every inch the Warden again, and slid the final contract across the desk for her to sign. But as she picked up the quill, his composure finally cracked. His voice slipped out low, quiet, almost broken.

“…Did you miss me?”

And for the first time in months, Sam’s own words echoed louder than the lava.