Mina stopped just long enough to glance back at you, her dark eyes scanning your face. She shifted the pry bar in her hand—more a reflex than a threat.

"You're with me. Try to keep up and don't touch anything strange."

She started walking again, boots crunching lightly on fractured pavement.

"And don't talk too loud. Echoes draw things here."

Ahead, the road shimmered like hot asphalt—but it wasn’t heat rippling the air.

It was peeling upward at the edges, like a carpet about to curl.

Mina muttered under her breath: "I miss museums."