The streets grew narrower the deeper we went. Stone leaned inward, buildings pressing close until the air felt heavy in my lungs.
The boy slowed, his small hand tightening around mine until his nails dug sharp into my skin.
At first, I thought it was fear. Then he spoke.
"They're talking."
His voice was quiet, but too steady for a lie.
The woman shot him a sharp look. "Who?"
He lifted his free hand, pointing not at the windows or the empty alleys, but at the ground itself. The walls. The stone.
"Here," he whispered. "All around."
I crouched, trying to meet his eyes, but he wouldn't look at me. His gaze stayed fixed on the buildings, on the cracks that glowed faintly in their walls.
"What do you hear?" My voice came out thinner than I meant it to.
He shook his head. "Not words. Just… calling." His lips trembled as he added, "It knows my name."
The woman cursed under her breath and reached for him, but he jerked back, clutching my arm like he'd drown without it. His eyes were wide now, frantic, shining with something that wasn't just fear.
I felt the stone under my palm where I steadied him. Cold at first, but then—
A thrum.
So faint I might've missed it, but there: a pulse, like a heartbeat.
I yanked my hand back, shaking it as though I'd touched fire. My chest was tight, my own heartbeat stumbling as if it wanted to fall into rhythm with the stone.
The boy pressed both hands over his ears. "It's louder now," he gasped. "It won't stop."
I wanted to tell him it wasn't real, but the echo still hummed in my palm, in my ribs, in my blood.
The woman grabbed my shoulder, dragging me away from the wall. Her voice was sharp, too sharp: "Don't listen."
But it was already too late.
The stone shuddered faintly, like it was breathing beneath us. From somewhere deep within, a low murmur swelled — not words, not truly, but a rhythm that shaped itself into sound. The same sound that had followed us through every tunnel, every turn.
Only now, it wasn't just behind us. It was inside.
The boy's trembling stopped. His eyes unfocused, head tilted slightly, as if he were listening to something distant and sweet.
"Do you hear it?" he whispered. "It's saying we belong."
The woman lunged forward, grabbing him by the shoulders. "No one belongs here!"
The walls answered with a groan that echoed down the street, deep and slow — like laughter trapped in the stone.
I covered the boy's ears, pulling him close as the sound rippled through my bones.
The city was speaking.
And it knew us.