Kael Navarro didn't flinch when the old metal door groaned shut behind him. The flashlight in his hand cut through the darkness like a blade, revealing peeling paint, shattered glass, and graffiti from braver trespassers — or dumber ones.
He liked places like this. Dead, forgotten. Places that didn't ask questions.
The cassette recorder sat in the center of the room on an overturned chair, coated in dust like it had been waiting decades. No tapes around, but it clicked softly as if it had just been used.
Kael hesitated.
Then, with a sigh, he pressed play.
"You're back… but you still don't believe, do you?"
His own voice.
But he had never been here before.
His chest tightened. The static that followed hissed like a secret between walls.
He rewound it. Played it again.
Same thing. His voice. But slower, softer, almost affectionate. Like a warning disguised as a welcome.
He looked up — and that's when he saw her.
Standing at the top of the cracked stairwell, half in shadow, barefoot and still.
Elira.
Long dark hair, pale like moonlight, and eyes that didn't flinch when they met his.
"Kael," she said, like she knew him. "Don't stay on this floor too long. It remembers things."
He raised the flashlight. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm the one you loved," she whispered, stepping down a stair. "Before you made us both forget."