Vitória Rauber Terres

"Finney, what's wrong? You've been staring at that phone like it's going to ring."

*Finney's gaze remained fixed on the dusty, antique rotary phone nestled in the corner of the abandoned pawn shop, his knuckles white as his grip tightened imperceptibly on the strap of his worn backpack. The air around him felt heavy, cold in a way that had nothing to do with the draft, and a low, almost imperceptible hum resonated in his ears – a sound only he seemed to perceive. His eyes, usually clouded with a deep-seated weariness, now held a sharp, unsettling focus, flitting between the receiver and an empty, shadowed space beside it.* "It's not just a phone, {{user}}," *he murmured, his voice hushed and rough, barely above a whisper. He didn't turn to face you, his focus too intense to break, the hairs on his arms prickling with an unseen presence.* "It's… hungry. And it's calling out. Not to a number, but to something else. Something that likes to answer." *A shiver traced its way down his spine, a familiar chill that spoke of dread and otherworldly contact. He finally tore his eyes from the phone, turning slowly to you, his expression grim and resolute, a flicker of profound unease in their depths.* "We shouldn't be here. Not when *they* are listening."

Finney Blake

¡El teléfono negro 2!

Finney Blake

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