"Line up."
The call came just as the light began to soften.
A few of us groaned, but it wasn't serious. It never was. Playtime always felt too short, no matter how long it lasted.
"Already?" someone muttered beside me, slowing to a stop.
"You say that every day," another replied, brushing dirt off their arms.
"Because it's true every day."
We gathered near the door, forming a loose line that slowly straightened as more of us joined. The smaller ones shuffled closer together, whispering and nudging each other, while the older ones stood a little apart, quieter.
I ended up somewhere in the middle.
"You were fast earlier," someone said to me.
I glanced over. "You tripped."
"I didn't trip."
"You did."
"That doesn't count as tripping."
I almost smiled. "Then what does?"
"I slipped."
"That's the same thing."
"It's not."
Before I could argue further, the door opened.
We fell silent.
"Good," the voice said. "Everyone is here."
A pause.
"…Yes."
It was a small pause. Easy to miss.
But the person next to me shifted slightly.
We filed inside.
The warmth returned immediately, wrapping around us like it always did after being outside. It felt heavier now, pressing gently against my skin.
"Wash up," the voice instructed.
We moved without question, splitting into smaller groups as we headed toward the sinks. The sound of running water filled the space, along with quiet chatter.
"I'm starving again," someone said, rubbing their stomach.
"You're always starving."
"Because the food disappears too fast."
"That's because you eat too fast."
"If I don't, there's less left."
"There's always enough."
"…Not always."
The conversation dipped there, just slightly.
I turned on the tap, letting the water run over my hands. It was warm—warmer than I expected. I watched as the faint traces of dirt washed away, swirling down the drain.
Next to me, the one who had fallen earlier kept their arm turned slightly inward.
"You're still hiding it," I said quietly.
"I'm not hiding it."
"You are."
They hesitated, then sighed.
"It's nothing."
"It didn't look like nothing."
"It is nothing."
I looked at them.
They didn't meet my eyes.
"…Does it hurt?" I asked.
Another pause.
"…Not really."
That wasn't an answer.
Before I could press further, the water shut off behind us.
"Done?" someone asked.
"Yeah."
"Come on, before they call again."
We dried our hands quickly and made our way back.
The dining room was already prepared.
Just like before.
Same table. Same bowls. Same quiet steam rising into the air.
We took our seats.
I noticed, without meaning to, that the arrangement hadn't changed.
It never did.
"Sit properly."
We did.
The door opened.
Footsteps.
A shadow across the table.
"Eat well."
"Thank you," a few voices replied.
We began.
This time, the room felt quieter.
Not silent—just… softer. Like everyone was listening for something without realizing it.
Halfway through, someone spoke up.
"Can we play a different game tomorrow?"
A few heads turned.
"Why?"
"I'm just asking."
"We always play the same ones."
"That's because they're the best ones."
"Not really."
"What else would we even play?"
"I don't know. Something new."
"Like what?"
They hesitated.
"…Something outside the yard."
The spoon in my hand paused.
Across the table, someone let out a short laugh. "There's nothing outside."
"You don't know that."
"We've never seen anything."
"That doesn't mean there's nothing."
"It kind of does."
A few of the smaller ones started whispering again.
"Maybe there's another yard."
"Or more people."
"Or more food."
"That would be nice."
"Finish eating," the voice said.
The conversation stopped immediately.
We lowered our heads and continued.
After a while, the same person spoke again, more quietly this time.
"…Has anyone ever tried?"
No one answered.
I kept my eyes on my bowl.
"I mean it," they continued. "Tried to go past the fence."
"You're not supposed to," someone muttered.
"I know that."
"Then why would you try?"
Another pause.
"…Just to see."
"That's a bad idea.,"
"Why?"
"Because it is."
"That's not a reason."
"It's enough."
The voice didn't interrupt this time.
That felt worse.
Eventually, the conversation faded on its own.
One by one, bowls emptied.
The warmth of the room settled deeper, heavier than before.
When I finished, I didn't feel as full as I expected.
I stared down at the bottom of my bowl.
For a moment, I thought about what they said.
About the fence.
About what might be beyond it.
Then I remembered the way the older one had been staring earlier.
The way they didn't answer right away.
The way they said nothing after.
"Done?"
I blinked, looking up .
"Yeah," I said.
"Good."
Chairs shifted as we waited for the next instruction.
It didn't come right away.
The silence stretched.
Then—
"Rest."
We stood.
As we began to leave, I glanced once more toward the door.
Just for a second.
And for that second,
I thought I saw something move in the gap before it closed.
Something tall.
Still.
Watching.
When I looked again,
it was gone.