Chapter 13 · The Girl in the Elevator

The voice came from the elevator behind me.

Not a recording. Not an echo. Vivian.

I spun around so fast the blood from my wrist splattered across the marble floor. The elevator screen was dead black, except for one corner where static crawled like insects under glass.

"Evelyn, don't." Lucien was on his feet, his voice low and sharp in a way I'd never heard before. Not asking. Ordering.

I didn't listen.

I walked toward the elevator. My wrist throbbed where the silver had cut, hot and wrong, like the wound was deeper than skin. The hallway tilted a little. I kept walking.

"Evelyn." Lucien moved fast, too fast, and his hand caught my shoulder. Cold fingers. Gentle but firm. "You don't know what you're doing."

I shrugged him off. "She said my name."

"She's dead."

"Then how is she talking?"

He didn't answer. His jaw tightened and he looked past me at the elevator like it was something that might bite.

The static got louder as I got closer. Not white noise. Voices underneath. Fractured. Layered. I could almost make out words.

"Vivian?" I stopped three feet from the doors. They were closed. The call button was dark.