Floor thirty-one loaded in red.
Not the red of fire or blood, the specific deep red of something that had been burning for a very long time at a temperature too low to be visible from outside but sustained enough to have changed everything it touched. The floor's ground was dark stone with a quality of having been under heat for centuries, the surface cracked in a pattern that had the regularity of geological process rather than damage. The air was dry. The sky, or what served as sky, was the color of a coal at its hottest point.
Kang Min stood at the entry and read it for thirty seconds before moving.
