FLOOR 13

Three people stepped into an elevator. None of them remember pressing a button. The doors closed anyway.

Paul pressed every floor — B2 through 12. Each one lit gold, then died. Except 13. No one had touched 13.

It was already glowing.

What floor were you on?

Seven

Three

They looked at the boy.

I wasn't on a floor

Floor 13. Raw concrete. No signs. A cable hanging where a light should be — swinging slowly. No wind.

Nothing to explain it. It kept swinging.

The corridor ran both ways. Identical. A door at each end. Nora checked her compass. Both directions were north.

The boy walked left without being asked. They followed.

The door had no handle — just a keyhole, old brass, wrong century. Nora looked through it. A table. Three chairs.

Three glasses of water. Cold. Waiting. Someone had set this before they arrived.

Nora drank before she decided to. Her hand just — moved. Paul's glass was already empty. The boy's glass was untouched.

He was watching them both like he already knew what came next.