The Door That Shouldn't Open
783 Words
Chapter 3 :The Door That Shouldn't Open
Amara didn’t sleep.
Not even for a second.
The moment her shift ended, she went home, locked her door, and sat on the edge of her bed, staring at nothing.
At everything.
At him.
Lucien.
His name echoed in her mind like it belonged there.
Like she had known it long before last night.
“That’s not possible…” she whispered.
But nothing about last night had been normal.
Not the book.
Not the voice.
And definitely not him.
Amara pressed her fingers against her temple, trying to push the thoughts away—but the memory of his voice lingered.
“You touched something you shouldn’t have.”
A chill ran down her spine.
How did he know?
And worse—
Why did it feel like he wasn’t lying?
---
By the time night fell again, Amara found herself standing outside the library.
She told herself she didn’t have a choice.
That she needed answers.
But deep down—
She knew the truth.
She came back because of him.
---
The library felt different that night.
Colder.
Quieter.
Like it was waiting.
Amara stepped inside slowly, her eyes scanning the shadows between the shelves.
Nothing.
No movement.
No sound.
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
“Good,” she muttered. “Maybe he’s not—”
“You came back.”
Her heart jumped.
Amara turned sharply.
Lucien stood a few steps behind her, as if he had always been there.
Watching.
Waiting.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she said, trying to steady her voice. “Sneaking up on people.”
A faint smirk touched his lips. “You still came back.”
Her breath hitched.
“I didn’t come back for you.”
Another lie.
And again—
He knew it.
Lucien stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “Then why?”
Amara hesitated.
Because she didn’t have an answer she was ready to admit.
Instead, she crossed her arms. “I want to know what’s happening.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“So is not knowing.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them.
Heavy.
Charged.
Then Lucien turned slightly, glancing toward the darker end of the library.
“The book you touched…” he said quietly. “It’s not the only one.”
Amara’s stomach tightened. “What do you mean?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he started walking.
Toward the restricted section.
Amara hesitated.
Every instinct told her not to follow him.
But her feet moved anyway.
Step by step, she trailed behind him, the distance between them closing without her realizing it.
The air grew colder.
The shadows deeper.
Until they reached a door.
Old.
Hidden between shelves like it wasn’t meant to be found.
Amara frowned. “That wasn’t here before.”
“It was,” Lucien said. “You just couldn’t see it.”
Something about that made her uneasy.
“What’s behind it?”
Lucien turned to face her fully now.
Close again.
Too close.
His eyes searched hers, like he was measuring something.
“Answers,” he said.
Her heart pounded.
“And danger.”
Amara swallowed. “You’re not really selling this.”
A faint, almost amused expression crossed his face.
“You’re still here.”
She exhaled slowly.
He wasn’t wrong.
“I don’t scare easily,” she said.
“That’s what worries me.”
Their eyes locked.
And for a second—
Everything else disappeared.
The library.
The whispers.
The fear.
All she could hear was her own heartbeat… and feel the strange pull drawing her closer to him.
Lucien’s gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes.
The moment lingered.
Tense.
Fragile.
Then—
“Open it…”
The whisper slithered through the air.
Amara stiffened.
Her head snapped toward the door.
“You heard that?” she asked.
Lucien didn’t answer.
Which was answer enough.
Slowly, almost unconsciously, Amara reached for the handle.
Her fingers trembled.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Lucien said softly behind her.
“Then stop me.”
Silence.
A pause.
A breath.
“I won’t.”
Her heart skipped.
And that was all it took.
Amara pushed the door open.
Darkness greeted them.
Cold.
Endless.
Alive.
And from somewhere deep below—
A voice echoed.
“Welcome back…”
Amara’s blood ran cold.
She turned slightly, her voice barely a whisper.
“Back?”
But when she looked at Lucien—
His expression had changed.
Not surprised.
Not confused.
Something else.
Something darker.
Like he already knew the truth she was about to uncover.
And didn’t plan on stopping it.
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