Each wall is as bare as the tunnel. Maze walks around, tracing her finger over the emptiness, her eyes eventually scanning the ceiling for the source of the clicking. I walk up to her, run my hand over her back and tell her we should keep walking down the hall because there’s nothing here. Just the lines of blue light against the silver. But she tells me no—something has to be in here. I wait for her, like her force of will could create a sign for us. I go around the room one more time to satisfy her, waiting for something to appear. But there’s nothing. And then the clicking stops. My fingers touch the smooth metal, as if another computer will light up. No water here. How many of Wrist’s words were lies, after all? She comes to me and puts her arms around me. “How much of it was true?” I ask her. “I didn’t mean any of it Wills,” she says. “No—what he said. What we are. About everything.” “I don’t know.
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