95

I didn’t move. My eyes stayed locked on the corner, the air in the hallway feeling thick, every inch of my body frozen. I held my breath, waiting. Waiting for something. Anything. Clarice’s steps down the hallway quickened, as if she was escaping from that one simple question. She was acting strange, like she was trying too hard to seem normal. She wasn’t even waiting for me to move—like she didn’t realize I hadn’t moved an inch from the door.

The sounds of the training room right behind me seemed distant, yet they filled the air. The women were grunting, their voices strained as they fought. The thud of bodies hitting the mat, the sharp breaths, the echo of punches landing, and the clash of hands in the air felt so far away. Everything around me seemed muffled, like I was underwater, even though the chaos of the room continued behind me.

Then there was the sound of my own pulse, pounding in my chest, louder and louder. It thudded against my ribs, like something wanting to break free. My ears rang with it, drowning out everything else for a moment. It wasn’t just my heartbeat—it was my mind. Every thud seemed to echo inside my skull, the pulse in my ears deafening, thrumming in time with the quick breaths I was taking.

Clarice didn’t seem to notice. She was walking faster now, her steps hurried, as if she was trying to outrun me which I found very weird becasue I had only asked one simple question. My eyes followed her for a brief moment before I turned back to the doors down the hallway, my gaze fixed, unblinking. Then, just as I opened my mouth to call her back, something—no, someone—slammed against one of the doors on my right.

Which one?

The sound made my skin tighten. A thud. Loud, but muffled, as if it was being pressed into the door with force.

A kick. No, not a kick—something softer. A thud, then another. Thud. Thud. Thud. It wasn’t the kind of kick that sounded angry, but the kind that felt like someone was trapped. Someone who couldn’t quite get out. The sound was muffled, but clear enough to make me feel sick, like I could almost see it in my head—someone crouched on the floor, behind the door, banging weakly. Their foot hitting the door, soft and frantic, like they were trying to get someone’s attention, but no one was listening.

I could hear it in my mind: the shuffle of feet against the floor, the soft thuds, muffled through the wood. Thud. Thud. Thud. My eyes flickered to the door, counting them as if the answer was hidden behind them.

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

Four. 

Five. 

Five. 

Four. 

Three.

The third door. It was the third one. That’s where it was coming from.

The sound was so intense, so real, I could almost feel it in my own chest. It was so human, so desperate, like someone trapped in a nightmare. Thud. Thud. Thud. So soft, but so, so heavy. Almost like the person was fighting something inside them—something in their mind, struggling to get out, struggling to make sense of it all.

I wanted to move, to do something. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t pull my eyes away. Thud. Thud. Thud.

A voice cut through the haze behind me. “Eleanor, we have to go.”

Clarice’s tone was sharper now, more urgent, like she had finally realized I wasn’t following her, like something in my stillness, in the way I stood frozen at the door of the training room, had unsettled her. I blinked, sucking in a slow breath, taking a step forward. It took effort to turn my head, to drag my gaze away from the door and look over my shoulder. Clarice was further down the hallway, her posture stiff, her arms held close to her body as if she were bracing herself against something unseen. There was an unease in her eyes, something restrained, something that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

I lifted my hand, my index finger moving in slow, hesitant motions as I pointed back toward the doors, my body reluctant to look away from them for too long. The moment my finger landed on the third one, I swallowed, my throat dry, my voice barely above a whisper. “Something is weird about this room.”

The words had barely left my lips when it happened again.

Thud.

The sound hit me like a physical thing, like a fist to my ribs. It was louder this time, heavier, more aggressive, like whoever was inside had felt me turn away and was desperately trying to drag me back.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

The air turned thick and hot, pressing against my chest, making it hard to breathe. I flinched, my hands curling into fists at my sides. This wasn’t just someone trying to be heard anymore. This was panic. This was someone fighting, someone pushing with everything they had left.

Then, through the pounding, through the way the door rattled against its frame, I heard it. A sound so small, so broken, that it barely reached me through the chaos. A muffled whimper.

Not a cry. Not a scream. Something weaker. Something fragile.

The sound slid down my spine, cold and sharp, and I didn’t think—I moved.

Clarice saw it immediately. She was already walking toward me, her steps quick, her body tense, as if she was trying to stop me before I reached the door. “Eleanor, don’t.”

I ignored her. My feet carried me forward before I could think to stop them, my pulse hammering against my skin with every step.

The door was right in front of me now.

I pressed my palms flat against the wood, my fingers splayed, my breath coming in uneven pulls. It was cool beneath my touch, but I could feel something behind it. I leaned in, pressing my ear against it.

Bang.

I flinched, the force of it shaking through me.

Bang. 

Bang.

The door jerked with each hit, the sound vibrating into my chest. The person inside was throwing themselves at it now, their body slamming into the other side with a force that sent tremors through the frame.

Bang. 

Bang. 

Bang. 

Bang. 

Bang.

The rhythm was erratic, desperate.

I could feel my own heart syncing with it, beating hard, fast, as if it was trying to keep up.

Clarice was closer now. I could feel her presence behind me, I could hear the sharp edge in her voice as she tried again. “Eleanor, stop!”

I didn’t stop.

My hand lifted, wrapping around the doorknob, my fingers curling around the cold metal. I rattled it slowly, testing it, feeling the way it resisted under my grip.

The second I did—

The second the noise of it reached the other side—

Everything stopped.

No more banging. No more thuds.

Nothing.

My breath caught in my throat, my fingers frozen against the knob.

They had stopped.

Because of me.

Because they were listening.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. My ears strained so hard for a sound, any sound, that the air itself felt like it was pressing against my skull. Silence. Heavy. Unnatural. Like something on the other side of the door was holding its breath too.

Clarice was talking. I knew she was, but I couldn’t hear a fucking word. Just a low buzz in my ears, like she was far away, or like my brain had decided she wasn’t worth listening to right now. Because she wasn’t. Because nothing was more important than this door.

I rattled the knob again. It didn’t move.

Locked.

Fucking locked.

What the fuck is going on here?

I twisted harder, yanking at it like I could rip the whole thing off if I wanted to. Maybe I could. Maybe I should.

Clarice stood to my left, arms folded, weight shifted onto one hip like she was posing for a fucking photo shoot. The way she looked at me wasn’t normal. Wasn’t annoyed, wasn’t confused. It was like she was waiting for something. Or daring me. Like she wanted me to keep pushing. Like she wanted to see how far I’d go before I broke.

I glanced at her, brows lifted, waiting for her to fucking explain.

She barely moved. Just parted her lips slightly and said, “Adeline projects.”

My stomach twisted.

The way she said it. Flat. Empty. Like it was just some random fact she’d pulled out of thin air.

I exhaled, barely aware I was doing it, muttering, “The fuck you mean… That sounds like humans.”

Clarice barely blinked. “Not humans.”

The way she said it made my skin crawl. Not what she said. How she said it.

I glared at her. My fingers rattled the knob again, my voice lower now, muttering, “What the fuck do you mean not humans?”

Nothing.

Nothing from behind the door.

No more thuds. No more movement.

Nothing.

I slapped my palm against the wood, the sound cracking through the hallway. “Is there anyone in there?”

Silence.

Clarice straightened, just a little. And then—smooth as fucking butter—she changed.

“There’s nothing there.”

I froze.

My head turned slow, my eyes dragging to her face.

“You just told me there’s a project,” I said, voice flat, but my blood was burning now, and I could feel it. “Now you’re saying there’s nothing?”

Clarice’s expression didn’t shift. Didn’t flinch. “I never said that.”

I stared at her.

She blinked. Calm. Too calm.

“You did,” I said, my voice harder now.

“No, I didn’t.”

I almost laughed. It bubbled up in my throat, this sharp, disbelieving thing, but it never left my mouth. I clenched my jaw instead, my fingers pressing harder against the knob.

“You literally just—”

“There’s nothing there,” she repeated, cutting me off, her voice almost casual now, like I was fucking crazy for even asking.

I stared at her.

She stared right back, like she was waiting for me to drop it.

My skin burned. My pulse pounded in my ears. I wasn’t insane. I wasn’t hearing things. The thuds, the fucking whimpering—I heard it. Felt it. And now she was acting like I was making shit up?

“You expect me to believe that?” I said, my voice lower now.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t fucking answer.

I let go of the knob. My hands curled into fists. My breathing was harder now, heavier, and I knew she saw it. I knew she could see how fucking pissed I was, how confused, how wrong this all felt, but she wasn’t flinching.

I took a step toward her. Just one.

She didn’t move.

Her gaze held mine, steady, empty, like she had already decided how this conversation was going to go.

“You’re lying,” I said, voice quieter now.

Her lips parted. And then—so soft, so smooth, so fucking natural—she said, “No, I’m not.”

I wanted to hit something.

I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she admitted it. Until she said, yes, I lied, yes, you’re right, yes, there’s something in there.

But she wouldn’t.

She wouldn’t, because this was the game. This was the play.

I could feel it now, thick in the air. She wanted me to think I was losing it. She wanted me to second-guess. To hesitate. To stop asking questions.

I clenched my fists tighter.

I wasn’t going to fucking stop.