2Silently mopping the floor, a woman in a blue vest worked in the hallway around PD.202. She had already completed her task down the stairs in the old building. Every day, she comes with her team of workers, but like most others, they haven't encountered anything or anyone in the windows they clean with their utensils. As she came to clean the Glasbak this morning, she yet again didn't give any attention to the little silhouette sitting at the bottom of the window, closely watching the floor. The woman continued mopping the hallway, but the small thing in the window, unbothered by the visitors, continued watching the floor.

Have you ever said a word one too many times, and all of a sudden it starts to feel wrong? The sound of it becomes awfully weird, and you try adjusting it by saying it in different paces, but it won’t work. The shadow had an occurrence similar to this word babble that morning. But instead of a word, the gnome-like creature couldn’t get its head around a bizarre shape on the floor in front of it. This shape had been there for quite some time, and surely enough, our shadow sees it every day! But overlooking is not just a human characteristic. And so what we believe we see every day, we actually never watch. And so it sat down and watched this mark on the floor. Investigating its shape, the silhouette began to wonder where the mark imprinted on the floor had come from. In a circle, three pairs of three, and one of two dots, formed a unique composition. Unlike a scratch from a chair or a stain from paint, this mark felt part of the floor like a tattoo or sunburn on one's skin. It was of a limestone-white colour that stood out against the grey floor. Was this the sign of a creature like itself, living in these halls? Overlooked by everyone and only spotted long after its passing? Maybe it was standing right in this position, looking out of the windows, unable to be seen, cursed to have a lonely existence. The thought lingered longer than it should have. The shadow tilted its head. The mark did not resemble a spill or a scrape; it felt deliberate. Slowly, a different image formed in the shadow’s mind. What if this was not a sign left by accident, but a footstep that had been indelibly imprinted on the ground? It counted again. Three pairs of three, and one pair of two. Eight in total. Who had been this fellow? – moving through the halls on eight careful legs, each step placed with intention, each foot pressing just enough to leave itself behind. Perhaps it passed through only once, crossing the hallway at a time when the building was still learning how to echo.

4 In the mirrored hallway, where reflections layered themselves endlessly, and even the shadow could lose track of its own outline, the central column stood like an island. It was a familiar surface – one the shadow passed often – but that day something new caught its attention. Halfway between floor and ceiling, a sheet of paper clung to the column in an awkward stretch, its top bending slightly as if it had been asked to reach farther than intended.

The shadow slowed. Objects that bent were always worth a closer look. With a small hop, it landed on the narrow ledge of overlapping posters beneath, balancing itself while the mirrors multiplied the scene: one column, ten shadows, a hundred red letters. The paper was held in place by strips of tape at its corners and one at the top middle, pulled tight. The shadow traced them with its eyes, noting how the paper resisted falling, how it strained upward. The red serif text filled the page with discipline. Every letter stood still, lined up carefully inside a thin rectangular frame that left a quiet margin all around, like a breath held back. It leaned closer. At the top, two rows of names sat together, calm and orderly, as if they knew each other well. The shadow could not read them the way humans did, but it felt their weight – the presence of people who had once been here, or would be soon. Lower down, the structure changed. Three neat rows divided the bottom of the page into parts: dates resting on the left, organisers standing firmly in the middle, locations anchoring the right. The shadow liked this arrangement. It felt balanced, like stepping stones across water. Only when it slid down the column, head first, did it notice the title – placed curiously at the very end of the page, as if it had arrived late to its own announcement.

Spread over two window panels next to an emergency water hose, there was an assembly of what looked like stickers. In order, a row of arrowheads was placed in the middle of two panels that were part of a single large window with six parts. There once were six arrowheads, three on each panel, but two of the left side must have been ripped off. Only the glue that remained still indicated that they once were there. The arrowheads pointed towards the left.

The shadow noticed them mid-jump, catching itself on the glass just before sliding past. It doubled back, feet skidding, and landed squarely in front of the arrows.

It leaned in. Left, left, left.

Always left.

The shadow tested this instruction immediately. It ran along the window, leapt onto the first arrowhead, and pushed off. The glass answered with a soft, dull echo. It landed on the next, then the next, following the direction as if the arrows were stepping stones. When it reached the torn spaces on the left panel, it hesitated. The glue marks still shimmered faintly, like ghosts of motion. The shadow jumped anyway, placing its foot where an arrow must once have been, trusting the memory of the shape. It worked – almost. The damaged arrow bent the rhythm, and the shadow slipped, spinning once before catching the frame with an outstretched arm. Laughing silently, it swung itself back up and tried again, this time running faster, pretending the missing arrows were simply invisible. On the right panel, the three intact arrowheads gleamed with confidence. The shadow sprinted across them, bounced off the last, and landed near the stairs. For a moment, the shadow paused, then turned and ran the sequence again, backwards this time, deliberately disobeying the arrows just to see what would happen. Nothing happened. The arrows didn’t seem to care. With one final hop, it pushed off the glass and disappeared down the hallway, leaving the arrowheads pointing left, quietly suggesting a game to whoever might look closely enough next.