The room felt too quiet, like the calm before a storm that had already passed. There were no sounds—nothing to hint at the world beyond these walls. Her fingers grazed the edge of the table, her skin brushing against something cold and smooth: a photograph.
She picked it up without thinking, almost as if she'd known it was there all along. The photo was old, worn at the edges, and the faces were blurred. There were two people, their bodies half-hidden by the shadows. She couldn't make out their features. But one thing stood out—the fingerprint on the bottom corner, smudged into the photo as if someone had pressed it there, intentionally or by accident. A mark left behind.
Her breath caught. It wasn't hers.
She shoved the photograph into her pocket, her mind racing. Who else had been here? Who had left it behind?
The clock.
It ticked louder now. She glanced at the time: 3:47 AM. How long had she been sitting there, lost in thoughts that didn't belong to her? She stood abruptly, her legs shaking, and paced the small, dimly lit room. The walls seemed to close in as she moved, like the space itself was shrinking.
Suddenly, the door creaked. A figure appeared in the shadowed hallway. A person, or was it? The outline was barely visible, only a silhouette in the dim light.
She froze.
Her heart pounded in her chest. Who were they?
"Don't panic," she whispered to herself, but the words felt hollow. The silence that followed was almost deafening.
"Are you ready to find the truth?" the figure spoke, their voice low and deliberate. It was neither male nor female. Just a voice—empty, masked, like a question itself.
She swallowed hard. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice shaking despite her attempts at control.
The figure didn't answer. Instead, they stepped back into the dark, the only trace of their presence the faintest glimmer of light—something reflecting off of... a key. It fell from their hands and landed on the floor, resting between them and the doorway.
Her heart skipped a beat.
A key.
But to what?