The number echoed like a mantra in Ethan’s skull.

  604.

  It had no source. It wasn’t on his phone. Wasn’t in his emails. But it circled his thoughts with the persistence of a nursery rhyme gone wrong. Every time he blinked, he swore he saw it—on receipts, street signs, even scratched into the condensation on his bathroom mirror.

  He left work early. No excuses. He just walked out.

  The city blurred around him. Cars, lights, faces—none of it seemed anchored to reality. He passed a street musician playing an out-of-tune violin with missing strings. The man didn’t look up, but as Ethan passed, he whispered, "Room 604."

  Ethan stopped. Turned. But the man was gone.

  He didn’t remember arriving at the building. Just the sudden awareness that he was standing in front of it. A squat, gray structure hunched between two larger buildings, as if hiding in plain sight.

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  The door buzzed once and opened before he could even touch it.

  Inside, the air was stale. The elevator was waiting.

  He stepped in and pressed 6.

  The ride up was quiet—too quiet. Not even the groan of old mechanics. The lights inside flickered in a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat not his own.

  When the doors opened, he was met with a hallway lined with identical doors. Every one marked: 604.

  The carpet was threadbare. The wallpaper peeled in long strips. Ethan walked slowly, hand brushing against door after door, each one colder than the last.

  Halfway down, a door stood ajar.

  He entered.

  The room looked lived in, but ancient. Dust caked the shelves, yet the TV buzzed with faint static. A photo frame on a nearby table showed a picture of Ethan with Jonah, except Jonah’s face had been violently scratched out.

  On the wall, written in something brown and dried:

  "YOU ARE NOT AWAKE."

  The door slammed behind him.

  He turned, but there was no knob. No hinges. Just blank wall.

  His phone buzzed.

  Unknown Number: You’re close now. Don’t stop.

  Ethan’s breathing grew sharp. The room seemed to shrink.

  The TV flickered to life.

  It showed Ethan in his office, mumbling to himself, smiling at something no one could see.

  In the corner of the screen, behind him, the Faceless Man watched silently.

  Ethan dropped the phone. It didn’t hit the floor.

  It vanished.