Anaya didn't remember walking.
One moment she stood in the twisted hallway, alone, breathing the fear left behind by her friends. The next, she found herself standing before the black door of 317B.
It waited.
Not like wood waits.
Like a mouth waits.
The chains that once bound it lay slack on the floor, cold and useless. The handle felt warm when Anaya touched it, as though someone had held it just moments before.
She hesitated.
Every instinct screamed to run.
But the corridor behind her had already shortened, sealing her in with quiet finality.
Anaya pushed the door.
It opened without a sound.
Inside was no room.
No ceiling.
No corners.
No walls.
Just depth.
Darkness stretched endlessly, but it wasn't empty. It pulsed faintly, like a heart beating in slow motion. With each pulse, shapes shimmered into view—names, faces, fragments of people who had once laughed, cried, lived.
Anaya stepped inside.
The floor felt soft, like old memory instead of stone.
As her eyes adjusted, she saw the writing.
Names carved into nothing.
Floating in the air.
Kavya.
Riya.
Meera.
Dozens more.
Hundreds.
Some letters dripped. Some glowed faintly, fading in and out as though struggling to remain remembered.
Anaya covered her mouth.
"This is where you keep them," she whispered.
The darkness shifted.
A figure formed at the center of the space, slow and uncertain, like smoke trying to remember how to be human.
A girl stepped forward.
Her bones bent wrong. One shoulder sagged lower than the other. Her hair hung in uneven strands, floating as if underwater. Her eyes, though—her eyes were painfully alive.
"I never wanted to stay," the girl said, without moving her lips.
Anaya knew her instantly.
"Ishika."
The name echoed.
The space trembled gently, pleased to be acknowledged.
Ishika tilted her head.
"You can see the real room. Others only see walls."
Anaya's knees weakened.
"You're… inside the corridor."
Ishika gave a small, broken smile.
"No. The corridor is inside me. And now… it wants to be inside you."
The darkness pulsed faster.