Mira's legs felt like they were glued to the floor. The word on the phone screen — Run — burned into her mind like a warning she couldn't ignore.
She stared at the door handle. It twisted a little more this time, slow and deliberate, like someone was testing how much she would resist.
She clutched the old phone to her chest, its cold surface pressing against her racing heart.
"Mira…" Daniel's voice slipped through the crack in the door, calm but off somehow. Too calm. "Open the door. Please. You're scaring me."
She almost laughed — the fear bubbling in her chest sounded like a sob instead. He's scared? The same voice that whispered through the phone hissed in her mind: Don't trust him.
She forced her feet to move. She backed away from the door, glancing around her tiny room for anything she could use as a weapon — a lamp, a heavy book, even her metal water bottle. Her eyes darted to the window. Fifth floor — no fire escape, just a sheer drop. Not an option.
The handle turned again. She heard the latch click.
"Mira, you're not answering me," Daniel said, his tone slipping — an edge of annoyance under the sweetness. "Why are you hiding from me? I thought you trusted me."
She glanced at the phone again. The screen flickered. A new message appeared, as if sensing her hesitation:
Unknown: "He's not what he seems."
She didn't have time to think. The door creaked open an inch. Then another. Then a hand — Daniel's hand — slid around the edge of the door, fingers curling around it like claws.
"Mira—" he began, but she lunged forward and slammed the door shut with all her strength, nearly crushing his fingers. She threw the deadbolt across and stumbled back, gasping for breath.
Think, Mira, think! She looked around. Closet? No. Bathroom? No lock. Window? Still too high.
A sudden crash — Daniel slammed his shoulder into the door. Once. Twice. The cheap wood groaned.
"Mira! Open this door!" His voice lost its calm sweetness, replaced by something raw and cold. "You're making this harder than it has to be!"
She grabbed her backpack from the floor and dumped its contents: textbooks, pens, wrappers. Useless. She stuffed the phone into her pocket, grabbed her charger — for some reason, she felt she might need it — and slipped her feet into her sneakers. She didn't bother tying the laces.
Where do I go? The window called to her again. Five floors up. No. But then she remembered — the laundry chute at the end of the hallway. It dropped all the way to the basement. Maybe…
Another slam. The door frame cracked. She had seconds.
Mira yanked open her bedroom window anyway, letting the cold night air flood in. She grabbed her old stuffed bear — childhood comfort — and tossed it onto her bed. If Daniel came in, maybe he'd think she'd climbed out.
She slipped out of her room just as the door burst open behind her, splinters flying. She didn't look back. She sprinted down the hallway, bare feet slapping the cold tiles.
"Mira!" Daniel's roar thundered behind her. Heavy footsteps followed, faster than she expected.
She threw herself at the laundry chute door, flinging it open. The metal tunnel yawned back at her — dark, cold, filthy — but freedom was freedom.
"Mira, stop!" Daniel's voice was closer. She could hear his feet pounding the hallway tiles. "You don't understand what you're doing!"
She didn't listen. She braced her hands on the chute's rim, shoved her feet in first — and pushed.
The world lurched. The metal walls scraped her arms as she slid down, down, down. Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she thought she'd get stuck, that Daniel would reach in and drag her back up by her ankles. But gravity did its work — she tumbled out the bottom with a painful thud onto a pile of dirty sheets in the basement laundry room.
Her head spun. She forced herself up, ignoring the ache in her side. She fumbled for the old phone in her pocket — still there. Its cracked screen flickered to life on its own. A new message:
Unknown: "Basement door. Now."
She didn't question it. She pushed open the laundry room door, emerging into the shadowy basement hallway. Rusted pipes lined the ceiling. Old light bulbs flickered overhead. Somewhere above her, she could hear Daniel's footsteps in the stairwell.
She ran. The basement door to the outside was old and half-rotted. She slammed her shoulder against it, once, twice — it burst open with a screech that echoed into the night.
Cold air hit her face as she stumbled out into the alley behind the building. Trash bins. Wet asphalt. The hum of the city at midnight. She glanced back — no sign of Daniel yet.
She pulled the phone out again. Her hands were shaking so badly she nearly dropped it.
Unknown: "Don't go home."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Then where?" she whispered into the night. "Where do I go?"
The phone buzzed, as if it had been waiting for her to ask.
Unknown: "Follow the light."
She looked up — and saw it. Across the street, under a flickering streetlamp, stood an old payphone. Out of place. Still working. Its receiver dangled, swinging gently as if someone had just used it.
Mira glanced over her shoulder once more. Then she ran, barefoot and trembling, toward the payphone — toward answers, or maybe another trap. She didn't know. But the old phone in her pocket buzzed again like a heartbeat, pushing her forward into the dark.