“Sally,” he called, but no one answered, unless the distant baa of the sheep, who had followed him closely on his journey, counted. “Sally.”

Nothing but the low hum of electronics.

He pushed open the door to her office. The shelving unit in the center of the room had fallen down, spilling everything out onto the floor on top of the bundles of cables. The result looked like a recycling tip. He would’ve said it was the sign of a struggle—if he didn’t know Sally, and know that she could’ve easily just done that herself in a fit of rage.

He picked his way through the crap as best he could toward the monitors. The Red Door was there, five times all over the wall. It looked like Sally was working on a new article—“THE BEST STANDEDGE THEORY SO FAR” was the title. But there was no text to the article—not yet, anyhow. There was just a photo—an incredibly low quality and bright snap of something he couldn’t really comprehend. Something up against rock and damp—it looked like the inside of the tunnel. The subject of the photo was a red sheet of metal, with holes in the...

The Monster’s hideaway. It was a photo of the “doors” from the Monster’s hideaway. But what did it mean? And how could that possibly...?

He started to think—yes, but no, but yes. Maybe...

He waved away what he was thinking. It wasn’t the most pressing thing right now. The most pressing thing was finding Sally.

He stepped toward the desk again, and his foot clunked against something. He looked down to see a hammer lying on the floor. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. Wasn’t exactly out of place. He put it down on the desk and... Saw it.

There was a bloody handprint on the desk. It was fresh, still glistening. Was this Sally’s blood?

He looked down at the floor, and this time saw a small trickle of blood going across the wires, leading to the door. Like someone had been moved across them. He jumped across all the rubbish to the door again.

If this was Sally’s blood, that meant she was hurt. That meant she was very, very hurt. And if she was hurt, did that mean someone else had been here? Someone who had attacked her? Maybe. He wondered if that person was still around, or if they had taken Sally somewhere. That seemed more likely. How was he going to find out where? Did it have something to do with the article Sally was writing?

He couldn’t know for sure.

He followed the trail of blood into the hall. It was so slight he wasn’t surprised he missed it when he had first come through here. It led into the kitchen, and then...