Her breath froze.
The corridor had fallen utterly silent, as if the air itself was waiting. Aria's fingers twitched at her side, every instinct urging her to turn back—but her feet refused to obey.
The voice came again. Low. Measured.
"Aria… Pari…"
Her pulse quickened. The walls seemed to close in, shadows spilling like ink across the floor. No one else was here—she was certain of it. And yet… whoever was behind that door knew her.
She raised a trembling hand toward the handle of the third door, the old brass chilled as though it had been buried in ice. The sound of her heartbeat roared in her ears, louder than her breath.
"Who's there?" Her whisper cracked, fragile.
Silence. Then, almost mocking, the faintest laugh.
Aria stumbled back, her shoulder brushing against the opposite wall. Every nerve screamed at her to run, yet the weight of her curiosity anchored her in place.
***
Pari's name still lingered in the stale air, echoing in Aria's head. But then—like a fracture in time—her mind filled with someone else's memory.
A dark room.
A small lamp flickering.
Pari's voice—soft, desperate—saying: "If anyone finds this… don't open the third door."
Aria gasped. She had never heard that memory before, yet it felt real—pressed into her like someone else's fear stitched into her bones.
The handle of the third door rattled suddenly. Once. Twice. Slow, deliberate.
And then a whisper slipped through, impossibly close—
"Aria… come closer. She's waiting