The elevator lurched to a stop between floors forty-two and forty-three.
Sarah pressed the emergency button once. Twice. Nothing. The lights flickered, then settled into an eerie amber glow. Her phone showed zero bars—not surprising this deep in concrete and steel.
Great. Just great.
She checked her watch. The presentation started in twelve minutes.
"Could be worse," a voice said from the corner.
Sarah spun around. She'd been alone when the doors closed.
A man sat cross-legged against the wall, sketching in a leather notebook. Late twenties, dark hair, wearing a suit jacket over a vintage band t-shirt. He hadn't looked up from his drawing.
"I've been in here for three hours," he continued, pencil moving in fluid strokes across the page.
"Three—why didn't you use the emergency phone?"
"Doesn't work." He finally glanced up, meeting her eyes with an unsettling calm. "Neither does the button you just pressed. And before you ask—no, you can't pry the doors open. Already tried."
Sarah's pulse quickened. She pulled out her phone again, jabbing at the screen as if force could conjure a signal from nothing.
"They'll notice I'm missing," she said, more to herself than him. "My team's expecting me."
"Sure they will." He returned to his sketch. "Eventually."
Stay calm. Think.
The elevator couldn't have malfunctioned. She'd watched the maintenance notice board this morning—all systems operational. And this building had redundant safety protocols. Elevators didn't just stop and stay stopped.
"What are you drawing?" Sarah asked, because talking felt better than spiraling.
He turned the notebook to face her.
It was a portrait of her—standing exactly where she stood now, one hand pressed against the wall, eyes wide with the first touch of panic. The detail was impossible. He'd captured the small scar on her cheek, the way her hair fell across her forehead, even the pattern on her blouse.
But that wasn't what made her blood run cold.
In the drawing, she was wearing different clothes. Yesterday's clothes. The blue dress she'd spilled coffee on at lunch.
"I've gotten pretty good at these," he said softly, flipping back through page after page of portraits. Different people. Different outfits. Same elevator. Same expression of dawning horror.
"Some of them screamed," he continued conversationally. "You seem smarter than that."
The lights flickered again.
When they steadied, he was standing.
"The thing is, Sarah—and yes, I know your name, it's on your badge—this elevator goes somewhere. But only after you understand the rules."
"What rules?" Her voice barely whispered.
He smiled, and it wasn't cruel, just infinitely sad.
"That's the first question everyone asks. Unfortunately—" He checked his own watch, a vintage piece with hands that moved backward. "—you've got about six minutes before you find out."
The elevator shuddered.
From somewhere far below, something began to rise.
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