The elevator had no sound.
No music.No mechanical clunking.No cables.
Just silence.
And the steady flicker of the Floor Zero button, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Jade stood still.
Back straight.Eyes fixed on the metallic doors.Fists clenched at her sides.
She wasn't afraid.
Not yet.
But she would be.
It took eleven minutes to reach Floor Zero.
She counted.
Every second stretching longer than the last.
And then—ding—the doors opened.
But not to a hallway.
To a mirror.
A single, wall-length mirror greeted her.It shimmered like it was underwater.
No floor number.No exit sign.No room beyond.
Only reflection.
Except… the reflection wasn't hers.
Not entirely.
Her clothes matched.
Her stance was identical.
But her face—
It was older.Weathered.Eyes sunken, like they hadn't closed in years.
The mirror-Jade stared back with a small, bitter smile.
Then spoke.
Without sound.
Just the movement of lips.
Jade mouthed the words aloud:
"You're already in the contract."
The glass rippled.
Split.
And opened.
Behind it—darkness.
So complete it looked solid.
Like a wall of ink.
She stepped forward.No resistance.
The moment her foot crossed the threshold, the air changed.
Heavier.Denser.Smelling of mildew and memory.
And then—
Light.
A single hallway.Long.Narrow.
With doors on each side.
No numbers.No signs.
Just knocks.Faint. Constant.
As if someone—or something—inside each room was trying to get out.
Jade took her first step.
Then another.
And as she did, the hallway behind her sealed shut.
No going back.
Halfway down the corridor, a door creaked open.
Not by her touch.
By its own will.
Inside:
A child's bedroom.
Pink wallpaper.Stuffed animals.A small twin bed.
On the bed sat a boy—maybe ten.
Wearing pajamas that didn't match the era.
He looked up at her and smiled.
"Are you here to leave, too?" he asked.
"I'm looking for my brother," she replied.
"That's what my sister said. She never came back."
"What's your name?"
"Does it matter?" he asked, tilting his head."Names fade here. Only your unfinished story stays."
The walls began to bleed.
Not blood.
Ink.
Dripping from the ceiling.Running down the corners.
Forming words.
"I fell. No one noticed. I stayed. Now they all forget."
Jade backed out.The boy didn't follow.
He only whispered:
"They'll ask you soon. Be careful what you say."
She continued down the hall.
Every door now had whispers behind it.
Some cried.
Some laughed.
Some begged.
And one said her name.
She froze.
A door on her left.
Wood warped.Handle rusted.
Her name scratched into the paint:
"JADE"
The handle turned on its own.
Inside: her old bedroom.
Posters of bands she forgot she loved.
Stacks of sketchbooks.
A bed she hadn't seen in years.
And her brother—Elias—sitting at the desk.
Alive. Whole. Writing.
He didn't look up.
Didn't acknowledge her.
Just kept typing on a keyboard that wasn't plugged in.
Jade stepped forward.
"Elias?"
He paused.
Then slowly turned to face her.
And smiled.
But the smile didn't reach his eyes.
"You found the bottom," he said."Didn't think you'd make it."
"I had to know what happened to you."
"I happened to me.""The apartment just... helped."
Jade looked around.
"Is this real?"
"It's true," he replied."That's all that matters down here."
He stood up.
Walked toward her.
And handed her a piece of paper.
Typed. Crisp.
She read it.
Every line was her childhood.
Her rebellion.Her jealousy.Her guilt.
Things she thought no one remembered.
Things she thought she'd buried.
"You've already signed," Elias whispered."You were bound the moment you came looking for me."
"No—"
"You accepted the key.""That's all it takes.""Now you write—or you disappear."
Jade felt a sting in her palm.
She looked down.
The key was gone.
Replaced by a pen.
Old. Leaking black ink that shimmered like oil.
And her reflection in the window of the room now wore his face.
"Write your way out," Elias said.
"Or stay."
The room began to fade.
Jade stood in the dark with only the pen and her story.
And the first question echoing in her skull:
"Who were you before you forgot?"