I’ve never experienced darkness so deep it felt endless. But that isn’t the part that tightens my throat. It’s the stillness—the kind that turns my room into a void, where all that exists is me, the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my chest, the pressure of nothingness closing in…

  …and whatever just began knocking from inside my closet.

  “Hello?” My voice comes out quieter than I hoped—less adult man facing potential home invasion, more kid searching for their mom in the Walmart liquor aisle. Not because I’m afraid something might actually answer. Truth is, I like a good fight—especially if the other guy doesn’t see it coming. And if I can’t see them, they can’t see me.

  …Unless they have night vision goggles. Then I guess we might be even.

  See, my capacity for violence is less rocket launcher, more sawed-off shotgun. Easy to underestimate until it’s pointed at your face. Sure, I’m short, scrawny, and still get carded for cigarettes at the geriatric age of 27—but people usually only make that mistake once. I’m halfway across the room, gliding quietly in the darkness with the grace of someone who has memorized every corner of this apartment forward, backward, and after one of Alex’s furniture-shifting cleansing rituals, when a voice breaks the silence.

  “PLEASE DON’T WATERBOARD ME, IT’S ME! IT’S ALEX, NOT THE HOME INTRUDER OF YOUR DREAMS. I WAS JUST TRYING TO PRANK YOU ON LIVE THEN THE POWER WENT OUT, AND I KNOW YOU’VE BEEN SECRETLY CALLING THE PRAYER LINE, PRAYING FOR SOMEONE TO TRY—”

  There’s a beat of stunned silence before I fall to my knees—partly from relief, partly because I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe. Thank gods she’s okay. Her laugh joins mine a second later as she crawls out of the closet, navigating the dark with the confidence of someone just as familiar with this apartment as I am.

  “You’re such a baby.” I tease, my hand finding her arm and pulling her to me.

  “I’m a baby? You were practically fetal. Crying like a kid who lost his mom in Walmart.” Her voice is sharp, smug, perfect. She hits me with a flawless impression: “H-h-hello?

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Like watching a master at work.

  Alex’s fingers find mine in the dark. We don’t speak for a second—just the sound of our breathing, the world holding its breath.

  Then she whispers, “Did you feel that?”

  “Feel what?”

  But she’s already moving toward the window. I don’t follow right away. Something about the silence feels off again. I can almost taste… is that metal? Dust? Behind me, Alex draws the curtain open, and her voice just barely penetrates the void where our room once was.

  “…Adam?”

  I hear Alex. I want to acknowledge her, but I feel stuck in place. My head turns slowly, despite using all my strength to pull myself free of the dissociation. My eyes rake across the room at a snail’s pace, finally landing on the view from the window.

  At first, it doesn’t register. Nothing looks different—not exactly. But the sky is perfectly clear. Too clear. Stars blaze brightly, impossibly vivid against the darkness. I’ve never seen the Milky Way from here before. Not like this.

  I blink once, twice, the sound of my own heartbeat loud in my ears. There are no lights. No street lamps. No headlights. No glowing windows from buildings across the street. Just darkness punctuated by countless, silent points of light. The city is quiet. Completely quiet. No engines, no sirens, no voices.

  And then I realize what Alex must have already seen: The cars—stopped mid-intersection, doors hanging open. Figures standing motionless, staring upward, heads tilted at identical, unnatural angles. Phones dropped carelessly on the sidewalk, glowing faintly before flickering into darkness.

  Alex squeezes my hand tighter as we get to the bottom of the rusty fire escape, her eyes scanning the motionless street. She doesn’t say anything—but she doesn’t have to. Something’s wrong. More wrong than what we can see. I strain to listen.

  It isn’t silence. It’s… pressure. A low hum, too deep to be heard, but somehow still there—vibrating faintly behind my eyes, crawling down my spine, settling like static in the back of my skull. Like standing too close to an old speaker with nothing playing.

  She squeezes my hand again. Her fingers are ice-cold. I follow her gaze upward. The sky, which moments ago seemed peaceful, albeit off, now feels like a lid closing over the Earth. Like we’ve suddenly become the insects trapped inside, lid slammed shut. My pulse throbs in my ears. That static hum vibrates through my chest, and somewhere deep in my stomach, I can’t shake the sensation that this moment—this quiet—might be the loudest the world has ever been.

  Alex drags her gaze to the unmoving figures on the street and whispers, “What do we do?”

  A flicker of movement catches my eye—across the street, near the corner where a single streetlamp flickers once, then goes out for good.