Waffle's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Waffle pulls her paw back from the door and shakes it once. The cold burn fades but the weight stays in her chest. Someone carried this door out of the gap. Someone knew where to look. She scans the market stalls, searching for movement that doesn't match the crowd's rhythm. She finds it behind a stack of wooden crates thirty paces across the market. A figure leans against the top crate, one hand resting on a device made of dark metal and brass. The device glows faint blue through its cracked surface. Its screen shows concentric rings — the same pattern as her door. The figure's other hand holds a compact scanner covered in layered metal plates. The scanner's holographic display flickers with fragmented data. Waffle recognizes the readout. Portal thread signatures. Her portal thread signatures. The figure looks up and meets her eyes. They don't look surprised. Waffle crosses the market in four strides. She stops in front of the crates and sits back on her haunches. The trader doesn't move. Waffle flicks her tail once. "You pulled my door out of the gap," she says. It's not a question. The trader taps the brass device and the screen shifts to show a map of collapsed portals. Red markers cluster where Waffle fell through. "You left it there," the trader says. "I catalog what gets left behind." Waffle's claws dig into the dirt. The trader tilts the compact scanner toward her. The holographic display shows three more doors like hers, all constructed from compressed thread and emotion. All found in gaps between failed portals. "You're not the only one who builds escape routes," the trader says. "But you're the only one who stabilizes them after." Waffle stares at the scanner's display. Three other doors. Three other regulators who fell through gaps and had to build their way out. She's been cataloging worlds, mapping routes, logging portals — all while thinking she was the only one handling the collapse alone. The trader closes the scanner and slides it into their coat. "The portals are failing faster now," they say. "Your catalog won't be complete if you keep working solo." Waffle's ears flatten. She didn't come here to find help. She came to confront whoever was tracking her. But the trader isn't tracking her. They're documenting the same crisis from a different angle. Waffle picks up her catalog from where she dropped it near the wagon. The violet star map still shows half the routes pulsing amber. She looks back at the trader. "Show me where you found the other doors," she says. The trader nods and pulls the brass device from the crate. The map expands to show coordinates Waffle hasn't logged yet. She adds them to her catalog without hesitation. She's still working alone. But now she knows the shape of what she's actually mapping.