Janelle stiffens. She knows this voice. She shouldn’t. How could she know this voice? But she knows the flow of the words rolling off the stranger’s tongue.
The floor shifts beneath her, tilting ever so slightly—not enough to move her, just enough to remind her that nothing is solid anymore.
Her fingers tighten around the key, but it is gone. And the door behind her? It is no longer there. The light flickers again, stronger this time, revealing the silhouette of a figure—not the stranger, but someone else, someone waiting.