Nina, a sixteen-year-old with pockets full of notes, had been keeping her own catalogue of feelings for a year. Since her dad left without saying goodbye, sorting through the chaos seemed the only safe activity. In the evenings she would go down to the basement of the old high school, where it smelled of chalk and rust. Beneath the gymnasium, gossip had placed the former Emotions Lab, closed after some failed attempt. Nina had a key to it from the archives, officially only for photographing exhibits. The door creaked metallically and revealed a room with shelves on which labeled vials stood. Joy 7A, Shame 3C, Classless Longing, each drowned in a gentle, shimmering liquid. A generator buzzed from deep within, and on the wall chalk drew diagrams of human reactions and breaths. Nina's task was simple: write down the numbers, don't open, don't ask, just put them in order. Nina gave the numbers colours, because it was easier to breathe when sadness had a colour. On the lowest shelf, however, a bottle without a label was waiting, slightly warm, as if someone was holding it. It pulsed gently in the torchlight, in sync with the shiver running through Nina's shoulders. Next to it stood an envelope, inscribed with her name in a clear handwriting she didn't associate with anyone from school. She checked her phone quickly, but no one had written, just a flicker of a would-be message from yesterday. - Are you coming back already? - spoke up Marcel through the headphones, as if he sensed that she had been silent for too long. - 'In five minutes,' she lied, tucking the bottle into her rucksack and running the light along the wall. Then the noise in her ear burst, and instead of her friend's voice, a quiet, childish whisper sounded. - 'Don't leave me in the dark,' said something in exactly her voice, though her mouth remained closed. Nina cursed silently and opened the envelope, finding a diary with faded pages, full of hurried entries. The last note read: Experiment 17, Wrath Recovery, aborted due to loss of container and sudden noise. The sketch showed a labyrinth of corridors, with a cross against the wall, just behind a bookcase with a 3D label. As she moved the heavy bookcase, she felt a cold draft and smelled wet metal, promising something unspeakable. A narrow service hatch, barely protected by a latch and a layer of dust, was hidden under a cap of plaster. When she opened it, the backpack vibrated and the warmth of the bottle transitioned to hard, rhythmic thumps. The generator suddenly went silent, the light flicked on and the first cautious step of someone invisible sounded underfoot. - Nino? - spoke a voice, so familiar that her heart leapt to her throat.