The corridor was empty by the time Hayato and Aiko slipped toward the west wing. The fading daylight had drained from the windows, leaving the stairwell in muted shades of gray.
Usually, their footsteps filled the silence. Tonight, even their footsteps seemed muted, as if the air itself was holding its breath.
They paused at the landing. Hayato glanced at Aiko, but she wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on the shadowed descent below.
"Do you… feel it?" she whispered.
He opened his mouth to say no, to laugh it off——but then it came.
At first, it was only a shiver at the edge of hearing. Then, unmistakably, a voice slipped through the silence, curling up from the darkness below.
"…Hayato…"
His name. Clear. Fragile.
Hayato froze, his pulse slamming against his ribs. Aiko's eyes widened, and without thinking, she gripped his sleeve.
"…Aiko…"
Her name. Spoken next.
Neither of them moved. The stairwell stretched below like a throat swallowing light, the whisper curling up its spine.
This wasn't wind. It wasn't creaking wood. The voice knew their names.
Hayato forced his throat to work. "D-did you hear that?"
Aiko nodded, her hand trembling slightly where it clutched his sleeve. "I've heard it before," she admitted softly, almost to herself. "But… not like this. Not our names."
The air grew heavier, as if the shadows themselves leaned closer.
Again, the whisper rose—longer this time, threading syllables into words that barely clung to shape.
"…Don't leave… me…"
Hayato's breath caught. The sound wasn't pleading for anyone—it was pleading for them.
The lights above flickered. Just once, but enough to break the spell.
Hayato tugged gently at Aiko's arm. "Come on. We shouldn't stay."
She hesitated, eyes still drawn downward, as though the darkness itself was calling her. But then she nodded, and together they stepped back from the landing.
They didn't speak again until they were halfway down the corridor, the stairwell shrinking behind them.
Finally, Aiko whispered, "Hayato… what if it isn't a ghost?"
He turned to her, startled. "Then what is it?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes shadowed with something he couldn't read.
"I don't know," she said at last. "But it knows us."
That night, lying awake in bed, Hayato replayed the voice in his head.Not wind. Not rumor.It had called for them. By name.
And beneath the fear, something else grew in his chest—a sharp, unshakable question.
Why them?