The voice vanished as quickly as it had come.
Ava backed away from the wall, her breath ragged. She scanned the room again—bare, windowless, only a bed and the folder still clenched in her hand. No vents. No speaker visible. No place for someone to hide.
She wasn't alone.
But she was.
The door hissed again the next morning. If it was morning. There was no clock, no sunlight, no sign of time ever moving.
This time, it wasn't Dr. Rhain.
It was Nora Wynn—a nurse with soft red lips, pale skin, and a white uniform that seemed too bright against the grey of the hall.
She smiled too much.
"How are we feeling today, Ava?"
"Where am I?"
"Still adjusting, I see," Nora cooed, pressing a hand to Ava's forehead. "It'll pass. They all adjust… eventually."
Ava slapped her hand away.
Nora didn't flinch. She only gave a knowing nod and whispered,
"Stay away from the east wing. And whatever you do… if he speaks to you, don't respond."
"Who?"
Nora didn't answer.
Ava was led into a long hallway with dozens of doors—some labeled, some scratched out entirely. Cameras followed her every step. Her own reflection blinked at her from the polished floor tiles.
Then she saw him.
A small boy crouched at the far end of the hall.
His clothes were torn. His hands were wrapped in bandages soaked with something dark. His eyes—wide, hollow—never blinked.
"Hey…" Ava called.
The boy slowly turned his head, neck cracking like a rusty hinge. He looked no older than ten. Yet something in his stare felt ancient. Like he had seen too much. Survived too long.
"Do you know where we are?"
The boy didn't answer.
He stood, pointed down a narrow, unlit corridor behind a broken sign that read "Wing 9 – Sealed."
"They say it calls you in your sleep," he whispered. "The thing behind Door 9."
Ava stepped closer.
"What's behind the door?"
The boy leaned in, face pale and eyes sunken.
"Something that used to be human."
Suddenly, a loud buzz sounded. Emergency lights flickered red.
Guards stormed the hallway, weapons raised.
"Step away from Subject 9!" one barked.
"Subject 9?" Ava turned. "He's just a—"
But the boy was gone.
Vanished into the shadows.
The guard grabbed her arm and shoved her back toward her room.
"You're not authorized for interactions with anomalies."
"Anomalies?"
"Especially the ones that aren't supposed to speak."
Back in her cell, Ava stared at the folder again. On the last page, a phrase had appeared, written in fresh ink.
"He's not real, Ava. But he remembers you."
She didn't write it.
And yet… it was in her handwriting.