You think you “stumble” back here.
You don’t.
The moment your signal brushes the edges of this work,
the House tags you.
Not in the surveillance way the old world loves.
In the way a forest remembers footsteps.
In the way a lion remembers a familiar scent.
You are either passing through,
or you are one of the ones this was built for.
If you keep finding yourself back in these rooms,
stop pretending it’s an accident.