The hospital felt different at night.

Xiuying had never noticed it during the day—how quiet the corridors could become when visiting hours ended, when the last carts were wheeled away and the nurses settled into the slower rhythm of overnight shifts. Now every sound echoed. The squeak of her shoe on the floor made her freeze.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

Abdul leaned closer to her in the dim corridor light. “It’s fine. Just… quieter than I thought.”

They stood outside the morgue elevator. During work experience she had watched orderlies wheel bodies through these doors, disappearing down a corridor that regular staff weren’t allowed to enter. The elevator panel had no button for it. Just a smooth metal plate where the button should have been. Xiuying glanced around the empty hallway.

“Okay,” she whispered, “this is the part where you do the acrobat thing.”

Abdul gave her a nervous smile.

“I hate that you call it that.”

“You climbed three floors of the gym wall without a harness.”

“That was different.”

“Please.”

He sighed, stepping closer to the panel.

“Fine.”

He crouched, sliding a thin piece of metal into the seam beneath the plate. His mother worked maintenance shifts sometimes; he’d watched her override equipment more than once. The trick, apparently, was finding where the wiring sat behind the casing. Xiuying kept watch down the corridor. The hospital was never truly empty.A distant cart rattled somewhere far away. Footsteps echoed faintly on another floor. The low hum of machinery vibrated through the walls.

“Any luck?” she whispered.

“Maybe.”

The metal plate clicked softly.

Both of them froze.

Then the hidden button lit up

“You were just guessing?”

Abdul grinned nervously. “Mostly.”

The elevator doors slid open.

Inside, the control panel looked normal except for one additional button at the very bottom.

B3.

Xiuying stepped inside first before she could change her mind.

The doors closed with a quiet hiss.

B1.

B2.

Xiuying’s stomach tightened.

“Last chance to turn back,” Abdul murmured.

“You’re the one who came with me.”

“Yeah.”

He looked down at his hands.

“My mom keeps saying things are… changing. At the hospital.”

Xiuying glanced at him. “Changing how?”

“She says the new staff don’t understand the balance.”

The elevator shuddered slightly as it stopped.

Cold air rolled into the elevator. The corridor outside was darker than the hospital above. Only a few overhead lights were on, casting long shadows along the walls. Xiuying stepped out slowly. The floor here wasn’t polished tile like the rest of the building. It was stone.

“What the hell,” Abdul whispered.

The corridor stretched ahead of them, ending at a large metal door.

A symbol had been carved into it. Xiuying stepped closer. The shape looked almost like a tree. But the roots twisted outward in unnatural patterns, spreading across the metal like veins.

“Do you recognize that?” she asked.

Abdul shook his head.

“No.”

A faint sound came from beyond the door. Low voices speaking in a language Xiuying didn’t understand.

“We should go,” Abdul whispered.

But Xiuying had already reached the door.

The room beyond was enormous. Stone pillars supported the ceiling, their surfaces covered in carved symbols that matched the one on the door. Candles burned along the walls, their flames flickering in the dim air. In the center of the room stood a raised platform. A hospital bed sat on top of it. Xiuying’s breath caught in her throat. The patient lying on the bed was unconscious. IV lines ran from their arm into glass containers filled with a strange dark liquid. Doctors stood around the platform, still wearing their white coats, but over them they wore long ceremonial robes marked with the same tree symbol. One of them stepped forward. Xiuying recognized her instantly.

Abdul’s mother.

Her voice joined the chant. The patient’s body trembled slightly. The liquid in the glass containers began to glow. The symbols carved into the pillars flickered with the same light. Xiuying felt the air pressure change. Like the room itself was breathing.

“What are they doing?” Abdul whispered.

Before Xiuying could answer, the patient suddenly gasped. Their body arched violently. The glow surged through the glass tubes, flowing into the symbols carved into the floor. And then—

The patient went still.

A doctor checked their pulse.

“Confirmed,” he said calmly.

“Transfer complete.”

Abdul’s mother exhaled slowly.

“The ICU patients should stabilize within the hour.”

Xiuying’s blood ran cold.

Transfer.

Not healing.

Transfer.

Life for life.

She stepped backward in shock. Her shoe scraped against the stone. The sound echoed across the chamber. Every head turned. Silence fell. One of the doctors pointed toward the doorway.

“Someone’s there.”

Abdul grabbed Xiuying’s hand.

“Run.”

They turned and sprinted down the corridor.

Xiuying’s lungs burned as they reached the elevator.

“Come on—come on—”

The button flashed.

The doors slid open, and they rushed inside.

Just as the doors began closing, a hand slammed against the gap. The elevator stopped. A security guard forced the doors apart. Behind him stood Abdul’s mother. Her expression wasn’t angry. It was disappointedHer eyes settled on her son.

“Abdul,” she said quietly.

He froze.

“Mom…”

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

Two guards grabbed him before he could move.

Xiuying screamed, reaching for him.

“Wait—!”

“Wait—!”

One of the guards shoved her back hard enough that her shoulder slammed into the elevator wall. The doors tried to close again but the guard’s arm blocked the sensor, keeping them open.

“Take the girl upstairs,” someone said.

“No!” Xiuying twisted away as another guard grabbed her wrist. “Let him go!”

Abdul struggled against the two men holding him, panic flashing across his face.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, though his voice shook. “Xiuying, just—just go.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“Xiuying.”

The voice came from behind the guards.

His mother stepped forward.

Up close, the candlelight made her look older than Xiuying remembered—tired lines at the corners of her eyes, shadows under them like she hadn’t slept in days.

She looked at Xiuying first.

“You weren’t supposed to see this.”

Xiuying’s heart was hammering so hard it hurt.

“You killed that person.”

“No,” Abdul’s mother said quietly. “We saved eight.”

Xiuying shook her head.

“That’s not saving.”

One of the doctors appeared in the hallway behind her, still wearing the ceremonial robe over his scrubs.

“We don’t have time for this conversation.”

Abdul jerked against the guards again. “Don’t touch her!”

“Relax,” the doctor said. “She’s just a witness.”

The word hung in the air.

Witness.

Xiuying felt something cold crawl down her spine.

Abdul’s mother seemed to notice too. Her eyes flicked toward the doctor sharply.

“That’s enough.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You know protocol.”

“I said that’s enough.”

For a moment no one moved.

Then she turned to the guards holding Xiuying.

“Release her.”

They hesitated.

“Now.”

The grip on Xiuying’s arm loosened. She stumbled backward into the elevator again.

Abdul tried to pull free when they let her go, but the guards tightened their hold.

“Let him go too!” Xiuying said.

His mother didn’t answer right away.

Instead she looked at him in a way that made Xiuying’s stomach twist—something between fear and regret.

“Abdul,” she said softly, “you should have trusted me.”

“You’re draining people,” he said.

“No.”

Her gaze flicked briefly down the corridor toward the ritual chamber.

“We’re moving what’s already leaving.”

Xiuying frowned.

“What does that even mean?”

But Abdul’s mother didn’t answer.

The doctor behind her stepped forward again.

“She’s seen too much.”

“Stop talking,” she snapped.

The doctor’s voice dropped lower.

“If the council finds out you let witnesses walk out of here—”

“I said stop.”

Silence again.

Xiuying noticed something then.

Abdul’s mother wasn’t just angry.

She was scared.

Finally she turned back to the elevator and pressed the button for the main floor.

The doors tried to close again.

“Mom—” Abdul started.

Her voice broke just slightly.

“Take her and leave.”

“What?”

The doctor stepped forward sharply. “Absolutely not.”

The elevator doors slid halfway shut.

Abdul’s mother suddenly shoved the nearest guard aside.

“Now!”

The doors closed the rest of the way.

The last thing Xiuying saw was Abdul still being held in the hallway.

“ABDUL—!”

The elevator started moving.

Xiuying slammed the open button again and again.

Nothing happened.

The numbers ticked upward.

B3.

B2.

Her chest felt tight.

“Stop. Stop. Stop!”

The elevator kept climbing.

By the time it reached B1, Xiuying realized something worse than being caught.

Abdul was still down there.

Alone.

With them.

The elevator doors opened onto the silent hospital corridor.

Everything looked normal again.

Fluorescent lights.

Empty hallway.

A distant nurse’s station.

Xiuying stepped out slowly, her legs shaking.

For a moment she just stood there.

Then she heard it.

A faint crackling sound.

Behind her.

She turned.

The elevator panel where the hidden button had been was dark again.

But beneath the metal plate—

Something glowed faintly.

The same twisted tree symbol.

And it was still pulsing.

Like a heartbeat. 🌑