"The Door That Shouldn't Open"
The lock clicks again—sharper this time.
I don't even get the chance to breathe before Kai's hand closes around my wrist and pulls me backward.
"Hey—Kai—"
"Stay behind me." His voice is low. Controlled. Too calm for what's happening.
"I am behind you," I hiss. My heart feels like it's sprinting out of my chest. "Why are you pulling me like—"
"Because you're too close to the door."
"Too close to the thing that's not even real?" I snap.
He doesn't answer.
"Kai," I whisper. "You're scaring me."
"Good," he murmurs. "Fear keeps you from doing something stupid."
"I'm not gonna do anything—"
"You were about to walk toward the door."
"No, I—"
I stop because I don't actually know what I was about to do.
His grip tightens slightly.
"Aurora."
"What?"
"Don't lie. Not right now."
I swallow hard.
The doorknob twitches again.
My breath hitches.
"Kai, she's not out there."
"Then the door is moving on its own," he says flatly.
"I—maybe—maybe the house is old. Maybe the wind—"
"There's no wind."
He cuts me off again
"There's no open window. No draft."
"Yes, but—
"And the lock?" he adds. "Does wind know how to turn a lock?"
I go silent.
A soft whisper slides under the door again.
"Aurora…"
I jump so hard Kai actually steadies me with his hand around my arm.
"No. No. That's not her. That's—someone else. It has to be."
"Who else knows your name?" he asks quietly.
"I—someone—anyone—neighbors—friends—"
"You don't have friends here."
"I have friends everywhere!"
"You don't," he says with maddening calm. "You haven't for a long time."
"That's not true—"
"Aurora."
"What?!"
His eyes cut toward the door.
"Listen."
"No—
"Listen."
I do.
Silence.
Then—
"Aurora, open the door."
My entire body locks.
"Kai," I whisper, "that voice sounds like—"
"Like yours."
"Yes."
"I know."
"That's not possible."
"Aurora—"
"No! That's not— I don't sound like that."
"You do."
"She sounds older."
"She is."
"She sounds colder."
"She is."
"She sounds like she wants to—"
"Hurt someone," he finishes.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
"That's not me."
"It's part of you."
"Stop saying that!"
"You can scream, but it won't change what's real."
"What's real?" I snap. "A voice pretending to be me? A door moving? You dragging me around like I'm some—some unstable—"
"You are unstable."
I go stiff.
"You shouldn't say things like that," I whisper.
"You told me to."
"No. I didn't."
"Aria did."
My chest tightens.
I shake my head slowly.
"This can't be happening."
Kai turns slightly toward me.
"Aurora."
"I don't want to hear my name in your voice right now."
"You need to calm down."
"Don't tell me what to do."
"If you panic—"
"I'm not—"
"You are."
"Kai—"
"Breathe."
"Don't—"
"Aurora."
His tone sharpens just enough to cut through my spiraling.
"Look at me."
"I don't want—"
"Look at me."
Something in his voice—low, firm, steady—forces my eyes to his.
The doorknob twitches again.
My breath stutters.
"That's not her," I whisper. "It can't be her."
"Aurora—"
"It's someone else."
"Aurora—"
"She's not real."
"She is."
"No."
"Aurora."
"Stop saying my name like that!"
"I'm trying to keep you anchored."
"Well, you're not helping!"
I jerk my arm out of his grip.
He grabs it again instantly.
"Let go."
"No."
"I said let go."
"I'm not letting you walk toward that door."
"I wasn't going to!"
"You were."
I glare at him.
His voice drops.
"Aurora… listen carefully."
"I am listening!"
"No, you're reacting. That's different."
I clench my jaw.
"Aurora," he continues, "Aria wants you near the door."
"How do you know what she wants?"
"Because she told me."
"When?!"
"Last night."
"I wasn't here last night!"
"You were," he says quietly. "She was."
My knees weaken.
That whisper returns—closer, sharper, directly on the other side.
"Aurora… let him move."
A shiver tears down my spine.
Kai's arms go around me without hesitation, pulling me fully behind him.
"Hey—What are you—"
"Be quiet."
"Stop pulling me—"
"Quiet."
The whisper comes again, lower, colder:
"I want to see her."
My throat closes.
"Kai," I breathe, "please tell me that's not—"
"It is."
"No…"
"Aurora—"
"Kai, why would she say that? Why would she—why would she want to see me?"
"Because she wants control back."
"I didn't take anything from her!"
"You woke up."
"That's not a crime!"
"To her, it is."
The lock clicks.
"Don't move," he says.
"I'm not—"
He grabs my hand.
His grip is warm.
Mine is ice.
"Kai…"
I tug slightly.
"Please don't let it open."
"I won't."
"It wants to open."
"She wants to."
"Same thing!"
The handle turns slowly.
"Kai…"
"Yes."
"Please—"
He steps back, forcing me farther from the door.
"You're safe."
"Stop saying that!"
He doesn't answer.
The door shifts.
Just an inch.
Barely an inch.
But it moves.
I choke on air.
"That didn't just happen."
"It did."
"No. No, it didn't—"
"Aurora—"
"Don't tell me it happened!"
The whisper slides through the opening.
"Move, Kai."
I freeze.
"Kai," I breathe, "she knows your name."
"I know."
"She—she said your name."
"I heard."
"Why would she say your name?!"
"Because she remembers me.
"How?!"
"You don't want that answer."
"Yes, I—"
The whisper cuts me off.
"SHE doesn't."
That's the moment I break.
"Kai—close the door."
"I'm trying."
"Close it!"
"I'm trying."
"She's pushing!"
"I know."
"Kai, CLOSE IT!"
"I AM."
The door pushes again—harder.
Kai braces his arm against it.
"Aurora—get back."
"I'm already back—"
"Farther."
"I can't go farther!"
"Aurora—"
"KAI!"
He grits his teeth.
"She's stronger than before."
"That doesn't make sense!"
"You don't make sense!"
"Stop yelling at me!"
"Then stop panicking!"
"I AM NOT—"
"Yes, you are!"
"THEN HELP ME!"
The door slams once from the other side.
I scream.
Kai moves so fast I barely catch the motion.
His arm wraps around me again and drags me even farther from the door.
"Let me go—"
"No."
"Kai—"
"No."
"Why are you—"
"Because she wants you."
"Well I don't want her!"
"That's the problem."
The door creaks wider.
Kai shoves it back with one hand.
"Stay behind me."
"I AM!"
"No—you're too close."
"I'm not!"
He grabs my shoulder and forces me behind him again.
"Kai—what if she gets in?"
"She won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because I won't let her."
"But if she does—"
"She won't."
"You keep saying that, but the DOOR IS OPENING!"
"It's barely open."
"Barely is ENOUGH!"
He turns his head just slightly, eyes locked on mine.
"Aurora."
"What?"
"Don't faint."
"I'm not going to faint!"
"You look like you might."
"I DON'T FAINT!"
"Good. Don't start now."
The whisper returns—directly through the inch-wide crack.
"Move, Kai."
He pushes the door harder.
"If she gets through," he whispers, "don't speak."
"What?! Why?!"
"Because she listens."
"I don't understand—"
"Good. Don't."
"Kai—"
"I mean it, Aurora. Don't speak."
"Why?!"
"Because the moment you do—"
He doesn't finish.
The whisper does.
"She'll disappear again."
My blood freezes.
"Kai," I whisper, "she knows everything."
"I know."
"How?"
"She's been awake longer than you think."
"What does that mean?!"
"Aurora—"
"What does that MEAN, KAI?!"
He presses the door closed another half-inch.
Then stops.
His voice drops to the softest whisper yet.
"It means she remembers the night you don't."