The basement stretches longer than she remembers, the darkness pressing in thicker now, hungrier. The stranger does not follow, yet she can feel his presence wrapping around her like a lingering shadow.
She stops before the door. Something about it is different now. The wood cracks open like veins, pulsing with something deeper beneath its surface. The doorknob is no longer brass; it gleams silver, smooth, expectant, waiting. Her heartbeat hammers against her ribs.