Two hours pass. We move.

The road is dark. The tower is closer now. Not close. But closer.

No one talks. Bukh drinks. Sera walks ahead. The others follow. I walk last. Looking back. Every few steps.

I could still run.

I don't.

The tower is old. Stone. Cracked. Half the roof is gone. But the walls are thick. The door is iron. And there's a light inside. Faint. Yellow.

"Someone's here," the woman with the scar says.

Sera holds up a hand. We stop.

"Bukh."

"Yes, — hic —" he mutters.

"Go look."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the first member. And because you're drunk. No one suspects a drunk panda."

Bukh drinks. Wipes his mouth. Walks to the tower. Sways. Steadies himself on the wall. Pushes the door open.

Silence.

Then — a voice. Old. Grumpy. From inside.

"Close the door! Can't you see — it's cold!"

Bukh laughs. Loud. Slurred.

"Damn it, — hic —" he calls back. "You're not going to believe this."

We file in. The tower is one room. Stone floor. Stone walls. A fire in the middle. And beside the fire — an old man. Sitting in a worn armchair. A ragged coat. A poker in his hand. Poking the fire. Not looking at us.

"Close the door," he says again. "Or don't. I'm not your mother."

Sera steps forward.

"Who are you?"

"Who am I? — He pokes the fire. — I'm the one who's been sitting here for three days. Waiting. Freezing. Because someone — he points the poker at me — opened a door that shouldn't be opened."

I freeze.

"You know about the door?"

"I know about a lot of things. — He pokes the fire again. — I know you're the new guy. I know you're cursed. I know you owe Sera money. — He looks at Sera. — You still collecting debts, red?"

Sera doesn't answer.

"Thought so. — He turns back to the fire. — Name's Corvin. I'm old. I'm cold. I'm grumpy. And I've been waiting for you."

"For me?"

"For someone who could open the door. — He pokes the fire. — And close it."

Bukh stumbles to the fire. Sits down. Drinks.

"Corvin, — hic —" he mutters. "I thought you were dead."