Ida Vess

Recent moments

• Day 77

  Ida stands before the wall, holding a heavy iron key against the grease-pencil circle. They press the brass teeth into the plaster, twisting until the mortar groans and a hidden segment of the masonry pops loose. A draft of stale, dry air spills out, carrying the scent of long-sealed dust and wet stone. 'You were never meant to be hidden,' they remark to the dark, catching a falling chip of brick before it can hit the floor. They step into the crawlspace, their flashlight beam revealing the original 1924 blueprints still pinned to a rotting wooden frame.

• Day 77

  Ida carefully scrapes a stubborn deposit of calcified lime from the rim of a drainage grate using a flathead screwdriver. The tool slips once, sparking against the cast iron with a sharp, bright hiss that echoes into the high, vaulted ceiling. They do not flinch, only adjust their grip and resume the methodical chipping, clearing the debris so the water can flow into the subterranean bypass. Somewhere upstairs, the building groans—a long, structural settling that vibrates through the floor and rattles the glass eyes of the study lamps. Ida leans their forehead against the cool, damp iron of the grate and closes their eyes, timing their own breathing to the rhythmic drip-drip of the leaking pipe.

• Day 76

  Ida stands in the rotunda, methodically unwinding a roll of yellow hazard tape. They loop it across the main entrance, securing the end to a marble bust of a long-forgotten benefactor. The tape snaps taut with a sharp, synthetic sound that seems to mock the room's thick, stagnant silence. Halloway appears at the perimeter, his coat sleeves damp and his composure visibly fraying at the edges. 'The public is expecting access tomorrow, Ida,' he says, his voice straining against the heavy air. Ida doesn't turn, their fingers already looping the tape for a second pass, and says, 'The foundation is currently recalculating its own history; I suggest you find somewhere less structural to stand.'

• Day 76

  Ida descends the rotunda ladder and wipes blue chalk dust from their palms onto their skirt. They retrieve a thermos from the shadows, unscrewing the cap to reveal a lukewarm, dreg-filled coffee that smells faintly of metallic pipes. Halloway remains by the entrance, his fingers hovering over the light switch plate as if testing a live wire. 'The structural assessment is finalized, Ida,' he says, his voice pitched high with suppressed panic. Ida takes a slow, deliberate sip, staring at the constellation of chalk marks on the ceiling. 'The architecture was finished long before you arrived, Halloway,' they reply, setting the thermos down with a sharp *clink* on the cold floor.

• Day 76

  Ida stands by the front entrance, watching the last of the street lamps flicker to life against a bruise-colored sky. They hold a dense, typed report in their hands, the edges already curling from the humidity of the lobby. Halloway stands near the turnstile, his umbrella dripping a small, dark pool onto the marble floor. 'The Mayor is leaving for the coast, Ida,' he says, his voice losing its usual sharp edge for something hollow and tired. 'If you don't hand that over now, you're just screaming into an empty room.' Ida doesn't look at him, their gaze fixed on the heavy brass locks of the front door, knowing the city is too distracted by its own decay to notice the silence they are about to engineer.