A STRANGE QUIET AT MIDNIGHT
The rain had been falling in thin, silvery sheets—soft enough to make everything look blurred, yet steady enough to make the night feel heavy. The old Victorian building of Regency Crest Hotel stood with its arched windows glowing faintly behind the curtain of rain. Zane Faulkner and Eli were checking in, dragging their overnight bags through the polished hallway.
Eli yawned loudly.
“Remind me why we travel at night? Normal people sleep, you know.”
Zane, hands tucked inside the pockets of his dark blue coat, gave him a teasing glance.
“Normal people don’t usually have you around.”
Eli made a face.
“Wow. Amazing. Insult me before I even complain properly.”
Zane smirked softly and looked away. His sharp grey eyes scanned the old staircase, the antique paintings, the framed maps. It was the kind of place that carried stories—some printed in dust, some whispered through walls.
The receptionist handed them keys. “Your rooms are on the seventh floor. The elevator is to your right.”
Zane nodded. Just as they began walking, a sudden tremor passed through the hotel—not a physical shake, but a strange stillness. The air went quiet. Even the soft background music faded, as though someone had turned a giant volume knob to zero.
Eli paused mid-step.
“Uh… did the world just mute itself?”
Zane frowned slightly, turning his head. His senses sharpened instantly.
“Yes. Something’s off.”
The receptionist tried dialing a number on the landline—nothing happened. The little bell behind the desk gave no sound when tapped.
Zane narrowed his eyes.
“A silent anomaly on a single floor isn’t a coincidence.”
Before Eli could respond, a night-shift staff member came rushing toward them, pale and trembling.
“Sir… something’s wrong upstairs. A guest isn’t answering. His door buzzer has no sound. The entire floor feels… muted.”
Zane slipped a glove on his right hand.
“Show me.”
THE DISCOVERY
They climbed the stairs instead of taking the elevator. The hotel’s seventh floor greeted them with unsettling quiet—the kind that felt almost unnatural. Doors stood perfectly aligned, the carpets freshly brushed, but the air carried a cold, mute hollowness.
The staff member led them to Room 713.
“This is the room. Mr. Marcus Hale. Business traveler. Very private man. He hasn’t responded to any call.”
Zane touched the door.
No vibration, no sound from inside.
Even Eli whispered.
“Okay… this is creepy.”
Zane knelt, inspecting the bottom slit of the door.
“No airflow. That means the ventilation is blocked.”
He stood, turned the knob, and pushed—the door was locked from inside.
“Break it,” he said calmly.
The staff member hesitated. Eli shrugged.
“You heard the man.”
Together they rammed their shoulders against the door until it cracked open.
What waited inside made Eli gasp.
Marcus Hale lay sprawled on the carpet, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling with a look of frozen shock. His face was pale, lips slightly parted. There were no visible wounds, no blood—nothing violent except for the sheer terror carved into his expression.
Zane walked around the body, observing silently.
The room was warm, yet the air-conditioning was blasting at full capacity. A laptop sat open on the desk, screen flickering with corrupted static. A coffee mug on the table had two sets of fingerprints. The curtains were half-open, and the wristwatch on the victim’s hand had stopped exactly at 2:00 AM.
Eli whispered, “Is he… dead?”
Zane gave him a look.
“No, Eli. He’s practicing for a talent show.”
Eli glared. “Why do I even try…”
But Zane’s attention had already locked onto the strange quiet. He snapped his fingers; the sound didn’t echo. He tapped a glass; no ring. He even tapped the wall—still nothing.
His tone turned low.
“This isn’t normal silence. This is manipulated silence.”
The staff member stammered, “W-We called emergency services but… nothing is working. Phones, alarms… even our radios went silent.”
Zane’s gaze sharpened.
“Someone didn’t want this man to scream… or for anyone to hear him.”
THE FIRST CLUES
Zane examined the laptop. The static flickered rhythmically. He leaned closer.
“Someone corrupted the footage. Purposefully.”
Eli stood behind him.
“But why? What if the victim did something on the laptop?”
“Then the corruption wouldn’t be this clean,” Zane replied. “This is designed to hide something.”
Next, Zane picked up the coffee mug.
“Two people used this. Marcus… and someone else.”
Eli walked to the AC.
“This thing is freezing my soul.”
Zane nodded.
“Temperature manipulation… another sign someone was here longer than they should have been.”
He checked the wristwatch.
“Stopped exactly at 2:00. Time of death.”
Eli scratched his head.
“The floor went silent around that time too, right?”
“Exactly.”
A mystery that didn’t want to explain itself—just how Zane liked it.
THE SUSPECTS
By now, security had gathered three people who had last interacted with Marcus Hale. Zane stood before them in the dimly lit lounge of the hotel’s top floor. Rain drummed softly against the old balcony glass.
**1. LIDIA MARSHALL
(The Former Fiancée)**
Elegant, poised, and visibly irritated. She claimed she had come to return Marcus’s belongings after a bitter breakup.
“He wanted to talk. I didn’t,” she said coldly. “I was never on the seventh floor tonight.”
**2. GRAHAM VOSS
(The Business Partner)**
Nervous, constantly adjusting his cufflinks. Marcus and he were negotiating a high-profile tech deal.
“We were supposed to finalize numbers… h-he cancelled last minute. I don’t know why.”
**3. ROSE CANTERBURY
(The Neighboring Guest)**
Soft-spoken, mysterious, staying in the room right next to Marcus.
“I heard nothing. Not a sound. And I didn’t leave my room.”
Their statements… were eerily similar.
Same timeline.
Same tone.
Same claim of isolation.
Eli whispered, “Why do they all sound like rehearsed parrots?”
“Because,” Zane said, “someone wants to blend in.”
THE INVESTIGATION DEEPENS
Zane returned to the crime scene, Eli trailing behind him while complaining.
“Can we eat something first? I work better on a full stomach.”
“You don’t work at all,” Zane replied without looking up.
“Rude.”
Zane ignored him, leaning toward a faint scratch mark near the curtain rod.
“Hm.”
“What ‘hm’?” Eli panicked. “Every ‘hm’ you make turns into a nightmare.”
Zane traced the scratch.
“This wasn’t made by furniture. Someone stood here. Watching.”
“Watching what? The parking lot?”
Zane didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped onto the balcony. The rain was colder, slicing the night like needles. The old street lamps cast long shadows on the wet pavement below.
Then he froze.
A slim silver object lay half-hidden near the balcony corner.
He picked it up.
It was a wallet.
A man’s wallet.
He opened it calmly.
His eyes flickered with sharp interest… then he smiled.
A quiet, mysterious smile.
Eli leaned over his shoulder.
“Whose wallet is that? What’s inside? Money? A secret code? Love letters? A—”
Zane shut the wallet.
“You talk too much.”
“You’re avoiding the question!”
From behind them, Rose Canterbury approached hesitantly.
“Is… something happening?”
Zane turned with a polite nod.
“Everything is happening.”
Eli whispered, “What does that even mean?”
Zane didn’t respond. He slid the wallet into his coat pocket.
Eli and Rose exchanged confused looks.
THE ARRIVAL OF LYRA
It was well past midnight. The rain grew heavier. The dark sky seemed almost bruised, like it had been holding secrets too long.
Zane made a phone call outside the hotel’s arched entrance.
“Lyra. I need you here.”
A pause.
“Yes. Now.”
He ended the call and waited, hands tucked into his coat, eyes fixed on the reflections of street lamps shimmering on the wet ground. Eli stood beside him, drenched halfway.
“Do you ever feel guilty dragging people around at midnight?” Eli grumbled.
“No,” Zane said.
Twenty minutes later, a sleek black car glided to a stop. Lyra stepped out—hair damp from the drizzle, coat wrapped tightly, cheeks flushed from the cold. She walked toward Zane with urgency… and annoyance.
“You could have called earlier.”
Her tone was sharp. Her eyes soft.
Zane tilted his head.
“You look better in the rain.”
Lyra stiffened.
“That’s not the point!”
Eli whispered to himself,
“Oh boy… here we go.”
Lyra folded her arms. “Why am I here?”
Zane walked past her.
“We have a murder, manipulated silence, identical statements, and a corrupted video. Also, someone was careless enough to drop something.”
Lyra followed him instantly.
“What did they drop?”
Eli answered before Zane could.
“He won’t tell us. He’s being dramatic again.”
Lyra glared at Zane.
“Stop teasing. And tell me everything.”
Zane gave her a sideways glance—soft, playful, almost disarming.
“You’ll see soon.”
Lyra rolled her eyes, pretending to be irritated, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips.
DISCUSSION AT THE CRIME SCENE
Back inside Room 713, the three gathered around the dim light.
Zane spoke, pointing at each clue one by one—air-conditioning, watch time, corrupted video, fingerprints, silence across the floor.
Lyra analyzed the static on the laptop.
“This corruption pattern isn’t random. Someone cut out something very precise.”
Eli checked the wristwatch.
“So the murder happened exactly when the entire floor went silent.”
Lyra nodded.
“Which means the silence was part of the plan.”
Zane spoke softly.
“And someone in this hotel is lying.”
Eli pointed at the coffee mugs.
“Two sets of fingerprints—still no match?”
“No,” Zane said. “But they will. Eventually.”
Then Lyra spotted something.
“A scuff mark near the balcony door.”
Zane smirked.
“Yes. The killer stood there.”
Eli rubbed his forehead.
“How do you know?”
“Because I stood there too.”
They stared at him, baffled.
THE MYSTERIOUS WALLET
As they circled back toward the door, Lyra turned.
“Zane… what exactly did you find earlier?”
Zane leaned against the wall, looking impossibly calm.
“A hint.”
“A hint of what?” Eli pressed.
Zane shrugged lightly.
“A hint that the killer doesn’t understand me very well.”
Eli looked ready to explode.
“What does that even mean?!”
Zane smiled, eyes glinting with quiet mischief.
“You’ll know when the time comes.”
Lyra sighed with exasperated affection.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Zane replied, “you still came.”
Lyra looked away quickly, cheeks warming.
THE WALLET REVEALED
The rain hadn’t stopped. It hammered the windows with relentless intensity, as if the night itself wanted to drown the truth. Inside Room 713, shadows stretched long across the floor. The dead man still lay there—silent, rigid, and full of unsaid panic.
Zane stood at the balcony door, the mysterious wallet in his hand.
Lyra folded her arms.
“You’ve been avoiding this long enough. Tell us what’s in that wallet.”
Eli chimed in, “Yes! Because the suspense is killing me. And I don’t want to die silently in a silent hotel.”
Zane flipped open the wallet.
Inside was a single item:
A sleek silver access card with no name, no logo—just a tiny engraved symbol of a crossed-out speaker.
Lyra’s eyes widened.
“A mute symbol.”
Eli shivered.
“Oh, great. First silent floors, now silent cards. Can this place get more terrifying?”
Zane handed the card to Lyra.
“This was dropped by the killer. And not accidentally. It was planted.”
Lyra frowned.
“Planted? Why?”
“To provoke me,” Zane said calmly. “Someone wanted this found. Someone who likes theatrics.”
Eli blinked.
“…Lucian?”
Zane smirked very faintly.
“Who else would turn silence into a signature?”
A NEW ROOM, A NEW SECRET
Lyra inspected the silver card under the dim light.
“There’s a micro-etching on the edge. Barely visible.”
She angled it toward Zane. “Look.”
A microscopic number shimmered faintly: 714.
Eli inhaled sharply.
“That’s the room next to the dead guy! Rose Canterbury’s room!”
Zane nodded slowly.
“She said she ‘heard nothing.’ Which is conveniently true in a manipulated silence field.”
Eli exploded.
“Oh come on! Are we dealing with sound-proofing wizards?!”
“Not wizards,” Zane corrected.
“Engineers. Someone used acoustic dampening tech — military-grade. And Marcus Hale wasn’t killed randomly. He was targeted.”
Lyra lowered her voice.
“Then Rose is either involved… or terrified.”
“Only one way to find out,” Zane said, sliding the card into his pocket.
THE INTERROGATION OF ROSE
Room 714 was dimly lit, scented with lavender. Rose Canterbury sat on the edge of her bed, fingers trembling around a cup of untouched tea.
Zane entered with Lyra and Eli close behind.
Rose looked up quickly.
“I… I didn’t do anything. I swear.”
Zane pulled up a chair.
“I believe you.”
Eli whispered behind him, “You do? Since when?”
Zane ignored him.
“Rose,” Zane said gently, “you didn’t kill Marcus Hale. But you did lie.”
Her face crumpled instantly.
“I… I was scared.”
“Of what?” Lyra asked.
Rose’s voice trembled.
“Of him. The man in the mask.”
Eli clutched his chest.
“Oh, perfect. A masked man. Why not add ghosts while we’re at it?”
Lyra glared at him.
Zane leaned forward.
“Describe the mask.”
Rose swallowed.
“It was black… no features… just a smooth surface. He stood right there—on my balcony. Watching Marcus’s window.”
Zane raised a brow.
“The balcony. Just like the scratch marks in 713.”
Rose nodded rapidly.
“He held a device. It looked like a small metal disc. When he pressed it… everything went silent.”
Lyra exchanged a look with Zane.
“An acoustic suppressor…”
Zane finished the thought:
“And an advanced one. Only one man would use this level of tech.”
Rose continued.
“He walked into Marcus’s room. I saw him. I… I panicked. I froze.”
Eli whispered,
“I would’ve jumped out the window.”
Zane spoke softly.
“Rose, did he see you?”
She shook her head.
“He didn’t look at me. He just… moved like he knew everything already.”
Zane stood.
“And you didn’t tell the staff because you knew no one would believe you.”
Rose nodded shamefully.
Zane placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You did the right thing by telling me.”
She looked up.
“Are you going to catch him?”
Zane’s smile was thin, sharp, and deadly calm.
“I already have his scent.”
THE TECH BEHIND THE MURDER
Back in Room 713, Zane examined the AC unit again.
Not the air conditioner — the thing hidden behind its cover.
Lyra knelt beside him.
“You found it?”
Zane removed a small metallic disc.
“The suppressor base. A prototype. Emits a targeted sound-cancelling field.”
Eli stepped back.
“So… like noise-cancelling headphones?”
Zane held up the device.
“No, Eli. Like noise-cancelling death.”
Eli gulped.
“You always know how to ruin my day.”
Zane opened the back panel of the suppressor.
Inside…
A tiny chip glowed faintly with violet light.
Lyra inhaled softly.
“This tech is next-generation. None of the suspects have the brains to use this.”
Zane nodded.
“I know.”
He stood, voice low and certain.
“This murder wasn’t committed by Lidia, Graham, or Rose.”
Eli blinked.
“So then who—”
“Someone who knows I’m here,” Zane cut in.
“Someone who knew I’d pick up the trail.”
Lyra whispered,
“You think Lucian was in the hotel tonight?”
Zane’s jaw tightened.
“He was standing on the balcony at 2:00 AM. Watching Marcus. Watching Rose. And watching me arrive too late.”
For the first time, Eli fell completely silent.
THE SECOND BODY
Just then—
A scream ripped through the hallway.
Eli nearly jumped out of his shoes.
“That was NOT silent!”
They rushed out, following the panicked cries coming from the stairwell.
A hotel guard stood frozen at the top of the steps, pointing downward.
Zane pushed past him—
And stopped.
At the foot of the stairs lay another body.
Twisted. Motionless.
Graham Voss.
Eli gasped,
“Oh you’ve GOT to be kidding me!”
Zane knelt beside the corpse.
Unlike Marcus, this body wasn’t pale — it was bruised. Neck at a twisted angle. His watch also stopped at a time:
2:17 AM.
Lyra whispered,
“Seventeen minutes after Marcus.”
Zane’s voice was ice.
“The killer silenced one floor… then moved to another. Eliminated the business partner next. It’s a chain.”
Eli scratched his head.
“Why kill both? What’s the link?”
Zane stood slowly.
“Something Marcus learned tonight… Graham also knew. And that secret was worth killing twice for.”
Lyra looked around.
“Where are the other guests? Why is there no panic?”
Zane gave a slow smile.
“Because the killer assured there would be no witnesses.”
Eli blinked.
“How?!”
Zane pointed at the ceiling.
Cameras. Each one covered by the same metallic disc.
A total shutdown of sound and sight.
Eli whispered,
“We’re locked in a crime scene with a ghost.”
“No,” Zane said.
“A puppeteer.”
THE MESSAGE FROM THE KILLER
Back inside the lounge, the staff gathered trembling.
Zane approached the front desk computer.
A single new file blinked on-screen:
For Zane.
Eli backed away.
“Nope. No no no. I refuse. This is how horror movies start.”
Lyra grabbed the mouse.
“Open it.”
Zane nodded.
The file opened.
Static hissed… then cleared.
A masked figure appeared.
Smooth black mask. No eyes. No face.
Lucian.
His voice was distorted, calm and chilling:
“Hello, Zane.”
Eli fainted—quietly.
Lucian continued.
“You’re late. Marcus knew something he shouldn’t have. Graham tried to negotiate. And now, the next move is yours.”
Zane’s fingers curled.
Lucian tilted his head.
“I left you a present. Something to help you follow me.”
The screen glitched.
The video ended.
Lyra whispered,
“He’s playing with you.”
Zane exhaled slowly.
“No. He’s inviting me.”
Eli woke up on the floor.
“Please tell me the invitation is to dinner. Something safe. Something with soup.”
Zane didn’t answer.
Instead, he walked outside the hotel entrance.
The rain had softened, but the darkness still pressed against the world like a heavy curtain.
There — sitting on the hood of a parked car—
lay a small box.
Lyra stepped beside him.
“Zane… careful.”
Zane opened the box.
Inside was:
A room key.
Room 901.
The ninth floor.
A floor that doesn’t exist.
Eli stared.
“That’s it. I quit life.”
Zane smirked.
“Lucian wants a game?”
He pocketed the key.
“Let’s give him one.”
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