Page 115 of Fractured Allegiance

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Empty, mostly.

Except for one thing.

A scrap of paper.

Folded once.

Old, but not yellowed. Protected by the wall.

I unfold it.

Six digits. Handwritten.

No name. No instruction.

Just a phone number that should’ve stopped meaning anything years ago.

I stare at it, thumb pressed to the top edge, heart thudding in slow-motion.

This was his way out.

His code.

If everything went wrong, we’d use this number. One call. No second chances.

I never made the call.

Because I didn’t believe in ghosts back then.

But now I’m standing in a hallway I shouldn’t be in, holding proof that someone—maybe Elias, maybe something worse—is still playing the same game I thought was over.

I don’t dial.

I don’t even reach for my phone.

I just trace the numbers with my thumb like I can read them into memory by friction alone.

Then I refold the paper and slide it into my back pocket.

Not because I want to use it. Because I know that, soon, I might not have a choice.

I stand again.

The door in front of me creaks softly. It always did. Even when Elias still used this space, back when his shadow touched every wall in this building.

I rest my fingers on the frame.

Not to open it.

Just to feel it.

There was a time this door opened only for me. Not because he made it a rule, but because no one else ever bothered to knock.

Now it’s shut, and has been for months. Just like him.

Detached in that precise way only Elias can manage. The kind that makes you feel like he’s still watching, just not intervening.

I don’t press my forehead to the wood.

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