The knocking returned.
Three knocks. Always three.
Always at 3:00 AM.
This time, Liam didn't hide.
He stood in front of the red door in the hallway—the door with no knob, no number, no logical reason to exist.
"Ethan J…" he whispered, remembering the name from the journal.
The air turned cold. A breath, not his, brushed against his neck.
Then the door creaked. Not open—but inward. As if it breathed.
Suddenly, he wasn't in the hallway anymore.