In the aftermath of her confrontation with Damien, Lila can't let go of the message embedded in Evelyne's files: a hidden floor. A forgotten level of the building that doesn't exist on any map. Below the archives. Below everything. She decides to find it. But some doors were never meant to open. And some rooms… remember.
---
Last Moment:
Leaving the night colder than it had been.
---
"You're still drawing, Lila. Just remember who sharpened your pencil."
The doors had closed. But his voice still echoed inside her.
Lila didn't go home.
She wandered.
Past cleaning staff who kept their heads down. Past floors with lights turned off and desks ghosted in shadows. Past all the logical exits.
The tower was hollow this late. Like a body postmortem—everything still intact, but lifeless.
She found herself in the executive elevator.
But she didn't press a button.
Instead, she stared at the panel. Dozens of buttons. Every floor accounted for.
Except one.
There was no B2.
The archives were on B1. She knew that much. But the floorplan Evelyne had hidden—the one with a line scrawled beneath the sublevel labeled "She never left"—that was below the archives.
B2.
Unlisted. Unmapped. Hidden.
She slipped the stolen master keycard from Rhys's office out of her coat. A deep breath. A sharp swipe.
Nothing.
Then—click.
The panel buzzed. A single new button lit up.
B2.
Her finger hovered. Pressed.
The elevator jerked. Then descended.
But it didn't feel like any elevator she'd ever taken.
It lurched.
Like it was being dragged downward. Like something didn't want to let go.
The mirrored walls turned dark. Her reflection faded until there was nothing but black.
No music. No movement except the slow grinding of gears.
And then—a ding.
The doors opened.
And Lila stepped into silence.
---
The hallway was narrower than she expected.
Not corporate. Not sterile. No glass. No chrome.
Just raw concrete, rusted fixtures, and yellowed lighting.
The smell was damp and mechanical. Like an abandoned hospital.
She followed the corridor.
Every light above her flickered as she passed, as if reluctant to show her the way.
The door at the end was marked with nothing but a small black plaque: Experimental Archives.
The handle was cold
She pushed it open
And froze.
---
The room was massive.
Not wide, but deep. Like a basement swallowed by another basement. Rows of shelves. Drawers. Screens. Equipment covered in canvas.
But what caught her breath—what turned her blood to ice—was the chair in the center of the room.
Steel. Industrial.
Straps at the arms.
Dried rust—or blood—on the bolts.
Beside it, an old terminal. Still powered.
She walked to it, hand trembling as she touched the keyboard. It came alive instantly.
And on the screen—footage.
Of her.
Standing in the room.
A live feed.
Angle: overhead.
She looked up. No camera.
But it saw her.
Then—movement on the screen.
Another figure. Behind her.
She whirled.
Nothing.
But on the screen—it was still there.
Not clear. A silhouette. Too tall. Face hidden. But watching.
The screen shifted.
File playing: E.K._LASTSESSION.mp4
She hit Enter.
It showed Evelyne.
Strapped to the chair.
Pale. Sweating. Eyes red. She was screaming—but the sound was muted.
Behind her—Damien.
Younger. But unmistakable.
His hand touched her shoulder.
She thrashed.
He whispered something.
Her lips trembled. Then—
She stopped screaming.
Stilled.
And began to draw.
On the wall beside her.
In blood.
Lila choked back bile.
The screen blinked. Another window opened.
Project: DEVIL'S MUSE - PHASE 3
Target: Hart, Lila
Initiation: Completed
Obsession Index: Climbing
Resistance: Medium
Projected Collapse: 43 days
She couldn't breathe.
She backed away. The room felt smaller. Tighter.
She turned to leave—
—and saw the walls.
Covered in sketches
Of her.
Not just from recent days.
From years ago.
Walking home from school.
Sleeping on a park bench with her sketchpad.
Kissing a boy she hadn't seen in five years.
Every moment.
Tracked..
Watched...
Drawn....
She tore one down. Another sat behind it.
She ripped that one away—another.
And another.
Layers. Years. A lifetime.
A shrine.
Her knees buckled.
She turned to the door.
It wouldn't open.
Then—the monitor blinked again.
Footage.
Now.
Damien. In the elevator.
Descending.
She ran to the far end of the lab. Past filing cabinets. Past glass jars filled with pigments and hair and things she couldn't name.
A second door.
She grabbed the handle. It didn't move.
The lights overhead snapped off.
Dark.
Except the glow of the monitor.
The screen now showed the rooftop.
Evelyne.
She turned. Looked right at Lila.
> "Run."
The monitor exploded.
Glass rained.
Lila screamed.
The real elevator dinged.
Footsteps.
She darted to the chair. Not to sit. To hide behind it.
The door creaked open.
His silhouette filled the threshold.
Damien Blackwell.
But this wasn't the man from the rooftop.
This one had no patience left.
"Hello, Lila," he said.
Her voice cracked. "You lied."
"No," he said softly. "You just didn't ask the right questions."
He walked toward the chair. Touched the straps like they were sacred.
"She fought me, too. At first."
"You used her."
"I refined her."
"You broke her."
"Some things have to break to become art."
"You're not an artist. You're a butcher."
His eyes flashed.
Then softened.
"She saw this room. Just like you. And just like you, she wanted to understand."
Lila stood slowly.
"I'm not like her."
"No," Damien said. "You're worse. Because I didn't love her."
The words hit like a slap.
"You don't know what love is."
"I know what obsession looks like. And it's standing in front of me."
"I'm leaving."
He stepped in front of the door.
"You already belong to this building."
"No," she said, voice shaking. "I belong to myself."
He reached into his coat.
Pulled out a sketchbook.
Tossed it at her feet.
"Look inside."
She did.
The final page.
A portrait.
Her.
Tears down her face.
In this room.
Tonight.
Beneath it: one word.
End.
She dropped the book.
Ran.
Shoved past him.
Into the elevator.
Slammed the button.
The doors slid shut just as his hand lifted—
But he let her go.
This time.