That night, Ada could not sleep.
Her mind kept replaying the moment Mr. Dike looked at her — that cold, unreadable stare that seemed to reach straight into her bones.
Around midnight, the wind picked up, and the compound fell into that deep, unsettling silence.
The kind of silence that makes every small sound feel louder.
Ada turned on her side, trying desperately to drift off.
But then… she heard it.
A cry.
Soft at first.
A whimper, almost like someone trying not to be heard.
Ada sat up, heart thudding.
It wasn't coming from outside.
Not from the street.
It was coming from the corridor… very close to Flat Seven.
She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the window. Her ears straining, her pulse racing.
This time, the cry was clearer.
A child's voice, trembling, as if begging for help but too frightened to scream.
Chills ran up her arms.
She turned toward her mother, sleeping soundly.
Should she wake her?
Ignore it?
Or check what was happening herself?
Before she could decide, the cry stopped.
Silence swallowed the compound again.
Ada's chest tightened.
Something was very wrong.
Unable to stay still, she moved to the sitting room window, which gave a clear view of the corridor.
Just as she peeped out, her breath caught.
The door of Flat Seven was slightly open.
A thin line of dim red light leaked out, stretching across the corridor like a quiet invitation.
Then she saw a shadow move.
Not walking. Not running.
Just… shifting, like someone standing close to the door but refusing to step out.
Ada's hands shook.
She quickly stepped back and hid behind the curtain, praying the shadow didn't notice her.
Minutes passed.
The glow disappeared.
The door closed.
The corridor returned to its usual quiet.
But Ada couldn't shake the feeling inside her chest — a mix of fear… and something else.
Determination.
Whatever was happening in Flat Seven, it was getti
ng closer.
And Ada knew, deep down, this was only the beginning.