Ethan hit the ground—
Hard.
But the pain didn't stay.
It slid away, like the floor beneath him refused to let anything remain real for too long.
He lay there, gasping, every breath sharp and uneven.
"…you closed the wrong door…"
The voice echoed again.
Closer now.
Not around him.
Inside him.
Ethan shot up, clutching his chest.
"No…" he whispered. "I closed it—I felt it close—"
"You closed yourself," the voice replied calmly.
Cold spread through his veins.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like something was settling into place.
Ethan forced himself to look up.
And froze.
He was in a hallway.
But not the hallway.
This one was… wrong.
Too long.
Too straight.
Too perfect.
The walls were smooth and pale, almost like bone polished to a shine. No cracks. No stains.
Just… clean.
Endlessly clean.
Doors lined both sides.
Identical.
Featureless.
No handles.
No hinges.
No gaps.
Just flat, sealed surfaces that somehow felt like they were watching him.
Ethan swallowed hard.
"Lina?" he called.
His voice didn't echo.
It was absorbed.
The hallway kept it.
Then—
A sound.
Behind him.
Ethan turned slowly.
At the far end of the corridor—
Something stood there.
Not moving.
Not breathing.
Just… there.
A silhouette.
Human-shaped.
Too still.
"…hello?"
The figure didn't respond.
Didn't move.
Then—
It tilted.
Too smooth.
Too slow.
Ethan took a step back.
Click.
All the doors—
Unlocked.
The voice whispered—
"Don't let them remember you."
Cracks spread.
The doors began to open.