Marvin didn't rush the conversation.
He moved a little closer, enough to study the man properly. No distortion. No instability. Whatever the House had done to him—it hadn't erased him.
But it had changed something.
"You said people make mistakes here," Marvin said. "Why here?"
The man shifted slightly, resting his arms on his raised knee. "Because this is the first place the House stops correcting you."
Marvin glanced briefly at the door behind him.
It remained.
Unchanging.
"So everything before this…" Marvin began.
"…guided you," the man finished. "Even when it didn't feel like it."
That matched what Marvin had seen.
The patterns. The sequences. The corrections hidden in the systems.
"And here?" Marvin asked.
The man's expression flattened slightly.
"Here, it lets you decide what matters."
Silence settled between them.
Marvin looked at the marks on the floor again. They weren't random. Paths had been taken here. Many times.
Different directions.
Different choices.
"You placed your key," Marvin said.
"Yes."
"And you stayed here after."
"Yes."
Marvin's gaze sharpened. "Because of what you lost."
The man didn't answer immediately.
Then he let out a quiet breath.
"Because of what I kept."
That shifted the meaning.
Marvin didn't speak.
The man continued.
"When you place it, the House doesn't take something random. It takes something that makes your path… cleaner."
"Cleaner," Marvin repeated.
"Less conflict. Less hesitation. You move forward easier."
That sounded like an advantage.
But the way he said it—
It wasn't.
"What did you keep?" Marvin asked.
The man looked at him directly this time.
"My decisions."
Marvin didn't react outwardly.
"And what did you lose?" he asked.
A brief pause.
Then:
"My doubt."
Silence followed.
Marvin understood immediately.
Not doubt as weakness.
Doubt as correction.
Without it—
Every choice would feel right.
Even the wrong ones.
"That's why you stayed," Marvin said.
The man nodded once.
"If I keep moving like this, I won't notice when I go off track."
Marvin's grip on the key tightened slightly.
Then loosened.
"You could still leave," he said.
"I could," the man replied. "But I wouldn't know if I should."
That was worse than being trapped.
Marvin looked at the door again.
Then back at him.
"You're waiting."
"For what?"
The man gave a faint smile.
"For someone who didn't place theirs."
Marvin didn't respond.
The man studied him for a moment.
Then said:
"So. What are you going to do with it?"
Marvin looked at the key in his hand.
The light was steady.
Unchanged.
Then he answered.
"Keep it."
The man's smile widened slightly.
"Good."
Not approval.
Recognition.
Marvin turned slightly, scanning the room again.
"This place connects paths," he said. "People pass through it."
"Some do," the man replied.
"Not all."
"No."
Marvin's gaze sharpened.
"Then where do the others go?"
The man leaned back against the wall again.
"Further."
No hesitation.
No ambiguity.
Just that.
Marvin nodded once.
Then—
He stepped toward the door.
The man didn't stop him.
Didn't warn him.
But as Marvin reached it—
"Hey."
Marvin paused.
Not turning.
"If you see a door that feels easy," the man said, "don't trust it."
Marvin glanced back.
The man's expression wasn't serious.
But it wasn't casual either.
"I won't," Marvin said.
Then he opened the door—
—and stepped through.