The red door was gone.
But something else had taken its place.
Behind the kitchen, where a pantry used to be, now stood a vault-like metal door covered in sigils.
Cold steel.
Burnished runes.
And across the top, in red etching that shimmered in candlelight:
"Only truth opens me."
Echo stared at it like he'd seen a corpse rise.
"The Room of Retraction," he muttered.
"It's only revealed to tenants who've broken the loop."
"You're ahead of schedule."
I didn't know what that meant.
But the door had seven locks—each glowing faintly with a number.
1 through 7.
And a voice whispered as I stepped near:
"One lie will consume you.""Six truths will set you free."
I turned to Echo. "What happens if I say the wrong thing?"
"The room eats your voice," he said flatly."Permanently."
I laughed nervously. "You're serious?"
"This apartment doesn't do metaphors."
The first lock shimmered.
I stepped forward, placed a hand on the number 1, and spoke aloud:
"I never wanted to leave home."
The lock clicked and vanished.
Just like that.
The second lock glowed brighter.
"I used to fake being okay so I wouldn't get kicked out of friend groups."
Click.
Gone.
Third lock. Harder now.
"I was glad when my father died."
Click.
No fanfare.
Just silence that felt like it judged me.
I paused before the fourth.
The deeper I went, the more I felt the apartment watching—not physically, but psychically.
Like it weighed each word on a scale of authenticity.
"Sometimes I think Echo is the only real thing left in this place."
Click.
The fourth lock disappeared.
Echo looked surprised.
But said nothing.
Lock Five glowed cold blue.
My throat tightened.
This one took longer.
Then I said:
"I think I wanted the haunting.""Because being scared feels better than being numb."
Click.
The steel sighed open another fraction.
Sixth lock.
The air dropped ten degrees.
I could see my breath now.
Echo whispered:
"Careful."
I nodded.
And whispered:
"I don't know who I am without the lease anymore."
Click.
Only one lock remained.
But this one didn't glow white like the others.
It glowed green.
Echo's expression darkened.
"That's the lie."
"Say the wrong truth, and it devours your voice."
I asked, "How do I know what not to say?"
"You don't."
"That's the point."
The door pulsed like a heartbeat.
Waiting.
I closed my eyes and thought through every terrible thing I'd hidden—even from myself.
Then… I stepped forward.
And said:
"I think I deserve peace now."
The lock flared—
But didn't click.
It shook.
The door groaned.
And a voice whispered:
"You haven't earned that yet."
The lock melted into the floor.
But not as a reward.
As a penalty.
My mouth opened—
But no sound came out.
No scream.
No breath.
Just air.
I clutched my throat, panicked.
Echo grabbed my wrist and pressed something into my palm—cold, sharp.
A mirror shard.
"Speak into this," he said.
I held it to my lips and mouthed:
"Help me."
And the shard echoed it back, soft and distorted.
Echo nodded. "Temporary voice capture."
"You've still got your truth."
"You just can't say it out loud anymore."
The vault door groaned once more—
And swung open.
Inside: a pitch-black room lined with filing cabinets and floating candles.
And in the center—
A chair facing away from me.
Someone sat there.
Thin.
Still.
Waiting.
I stepped inside.
The door closed behind me.
Echo didn't follow.
This was my trial alone.
I approached the chair.
The figure didn't move.
Then I walked around to see who it was.
And stopped cold.
It was me.
But not quite.
Same face. Same eyes.
But older.
Exhausted.
Covered in cracks that glowed faintly red.
A hollowed-out version of myself—like someone had pulled the soul out and left the casing behind.
He looked up.
And whispered:
"You let me rot in here."
"You left the scared part behind."
"And kept the brave mask."
I couldn't speak, so I mouthed:"Who are you?"
He replied:
"I'm every version of you that didn't survive the lease."
"Every soul that broke but didn't get to scream."
"You get to walk around. But I'm the part you traded."
"I remember the first signature. The first night. The first scream in the vents."
"You pushed me away so you could cope."
I reached for him.
But he recoiled.
"You can't heal what you deny."
"You want peace? Then you have to reclaim me."
He placed something in my hand:
A rusted key with a mirror embedded in the handle.
"Use this on the next door."
"But only when you're ready to face yourself completely."
He stood up.
Faded into smoke.
Gone.
I turned around.
The vault was open again.
Echo waited.
He didn't speak.
Just nodded once as I stepped out.
In my palm, the mirror glinted.
Not with light—
But with reflections I wasn't ready to see.
Yet somehow… I was still walking forward.