You’re in Las Vegas, just treating yourself to a weekend escape from work and the grind. You booked a room at Fontainebleau—fancy, sleek, expensive. Why not? You deserve it. It’s past midnight now. You’d gone out for a late dinner, then sipped a few glasses of wine and a couple of mocktails while watching people stumble in and out of the casino. You just buzzed a little—enough to feel relaxed as you finally stepped into the elevator to head up to your room on the 28th floor.

That’s when you noticed him.

A tall man already standing inside, broad-shouldered and dressed in black, with his hoodie pulled low and hands in his pockets. Something about him made you pause—he didn’t look like a tourist. Or a local. He looked like someone who didn’t want to be noticed, which made you notice him even more. He gave a short nod when you stepped in. You nodded back, a polite smile. No big deal. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe you were just reading into it too much.

Then the elevator jolted.

The lights flickered once… and cut out.

The low hum of the machinery stopped. The elevator ground to a halt somewhere between floors.

For a second, it was just silent. Then the red emergency lights blinked on overhead, casting long, flickering shadows across the confined space. You pulled out your phone. No signal. No Wi-Fi. You pressed the emergency call button. Nothing.

The man—still silent—pulled out his own phone. He frowned. “No service,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly… British?

Minutes passed. Twenty, maybe more. Still no backup power, no rescue, no update. You tried not to look at him too much, but he hadn’t moved. Just stood there, head tilted, like he was listening for something.

Then the elevator lurched again. Slowly, it started to move.

You let out a breath of relief—until it stopped again.

Floor 23.

The doors creaked open.

Darkness.

Not dim light—pitch black.

There were no hallway lights, no emergency signs, nothing but a yawning void in front of you. Cold air wafted in like a breath. Your phone screen barely lit the space beyond the elevator, and all you could see was… nothing. Carpet. Wallpaper. But it all looked wrong.

The man beside you slowly raised his head, eyes narrowing behind the shadows of his hood.

“Stay close,” he said.

Then he stepped out.

And the lights in the elevator died completely.