Aninsa walked aimlessly, the streets undulating around her, shifting with every step. The sidewalks became staircases, the buildings twisted like liquid shadows, and the dark sky quivered like a canvas caught in the wind.

  She no longer knew where she was. She no longer knew if it was day or night, or if time flowed forward or backward.

  She no longer knew if she was even real.

  The only thing keeping her mind intact were her dreams. Dreams of Maiana.

  She saw herself, younger, running through a garden full of flowers, laughing alongside Maiana, who waved her thin arms in the air. But now, in the dreams, Maiana was drifting further and further away. Each time Aninsa tried to reach her, the girl would fade, as if pulled into a thick mist, leaving Aninsa alone with a vast void in her chest.

  “Where are you?” she would whisper every time she woke.

  No answer. Around her remained only the city, forever enclosing her.

  After traversing a dark alleyway, Aninsa noticed an old, almost forgotten phone booth, tucked away behind a cracked stone wall. There was something strange about it—the booth seemed to glow faintly in the dark, as if covered in a thin film of artificial moonlight. Aninsa stopped, watching it with caution. She felt she shouldn't go inside, but something within her urged her to do exactly that.

  She opened the door with effort, the rusted metal screeching under her hand. Inside, on a dusty ledge, lay an old phone book with yellowed, torn pages. When she opened it, she discovered names written in faded ink—some completely erased, others marked with black crosses next to them. Each name seemed to vibrate slightly under her gaze, like bolts of life captured in paper.

  The first number she dialed was associated with a name that was almost entirely rubbed out; only a few letters were visible: “...ric.” The phone rang twice, and then a weak, trembling voice answered:

  “It’s... too late,” the voice said, nearly a whisper. “I can’t leave anymore. I don’t want to leave anymore.”

  Aninsa felt a cold shiver run down her spine. “Who are you? Where are you?” she asked, but the response came in the form of a long sigh, followed by absolute silence. The line went dead, and Aninsa remained with the receiver in her hand, staring at the page with the faded name.

  The second number she dialed was marked with a black cross. When she pressed the digits, the phone rang once, and then a deep, metallic male voice answered:

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  “You cannot turn back now,” the voice said, in a tone that seemed to come from another time. “Once you have entered, there is no way back.”

  “What do you mean?” Aninsa asked, her heart beating faster. “Who are you?” she asked, terrified.

  “Haven’t you learned not to disturb people like us?” the voice said, harsh and cold. “We are gone. You must do the same.”

  “But I can’t leave!” she cried out. “I have to find Maiana!”

  The voice laughed faintly, like a dying echo. “Maiana...” it repeated with cold sarcasm. “If you have come here, it means you made the choice too. You can no longer go back.”

  “Where am I right now?” Aninsa asked, hoping for even a shred of information.

  But the voice did not answer. Instead, a heavy silence filled the line, as if the person on the other end had suddenly vanished. Aninsa closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing. She felt that every call brought her closer to a reality she didn't want to accept—that these voices belonged to those who had been trapped in this city and had failed to escape.

  But then, in the middle of the page, she found a name that made her heart skip a beat: Maiana. Next to the name, someone had written in pencil, in trembling letters: “ready.”

  Her heart leapt into her throat. “Ready for what?” she asked, her voice sounding too loud in the small space of the booth. With shaking hands, Aninsa dialed the number associated with Maiana.

  The phone rang once, then again. Just as she expected to hear a busy signal or the characteristic silence, a familiar voice answered—but it wasn't clear; it came from a distance, like a faint echo:

  “Aninsa...” Maiana’s voice said, trembling and full of fear. “Please... don’t leave me!”

  “Maiana!” Aninsa shouted, pressing the receiver tight against her ear. “Where are you? What happened?”

  Her sister’s voice was now weaker, almost imperceptible. “I don’t want to go! Not now!”

  And then, suddenly, a shrill scream filled her ears, like a sound coming from another dimension. The call cut off, and the line went mute. Aninsa tried to redial the number, but this time there was nothing there—the number didn't even exist in the phone book anymore.

  With the last of her strength, Aninsa flipped through the book and found a special number—one written in capital letters and framed in a black box: “EMERGENCY.” Trembling with emotion, she dialed the number and waited for someone to answer.

  This time, the line was picked up immediately, and an automated, cold, and impersonal voice began to speak.

  “Emergency services. Do you have someone at risk of resuscitation?”

  Aninsa hesitated, the receiver pressed to her ear. “Resuscitation...” she repeated, puzzled. “What does that mean?”

  “Answer,” the voice continued, offering no other explanation. “Do you have someone at risk of resuscitation?”

  She closed her eyes, feeling all the questions and accumulated fear beginning to overwhelm her. “Yes,” she said, almost without realizing it. “Yes, I have someone. Maiana.”

  “Then prepare to make the necessary sacrifice,” the voice replied, now deeper and more grave. “Resuscitation is not free.”

  The line disconnected abruptly, and Aninsa stood motionless in the booth, receiver in hand, her mind flooded with questions. What did that phrase mean? What kind of sacrifice was required? And above all—could she give up what was being asked of her?

  Tears began to flow down her cheeks, but not out of despair—they were tears of rage. Rage that the city held her prisoner, that it forced her to see these things without offering a clear answer. Rage that she could not reach Maiana, even though she felt her sister was somewhere close, yet inaccessible.