Page 100 of White Noise

Silas studies me, his eyes void of any human warmth. The silence stretches, oppressive and heavy, long enough to confirm that I’ve finally hit a nerve, or a secret.

He doesn't feel like explaining, and for the first time, the power dynamic shifts, if only by a fraction of an inch.

That alone makes the question worth keeping.

“Interesting,” I murmur.

His eyes narrow, the violet hue deepening, flashing with a warning. I smile back, a jagged, desperate thing.

For once, he is the one who doesn’t know exactly what I’m thinking.

Static begins to gather along his shoulders, the air humming with a sudden, violent energy.

The edges of his body begin to break apart, glitching and tearing as the signal starts dragging him back into the void.

Silas glances down at his dissolving form, then locks his eyes on mine with a look of absolute, terrifying ownership.

“You’re still mine, little echo.”

I fold my arms, trying to hide the way my hands are shaking. “You really need new material.”

His smile turns darker, more sadistic, as another section of him vanishes into a storm of interference. “You still need to learn when I’m telling you the truth.”

Before I can snap back, a surge of static cuts through the rest of him, and the room is suddenly, violently empty.

I stay where I am for a long time, staring at the void he left behind.

The silence is worse than the noise.

It’s the silence of a predator waiting in the brush.

The question keeps circling through my head, a mantra of hope and terror.

How far can he go?

I know he can reach every device in this condo.

I know shutting off the Wi-Fi is a joke, unplugging the hardware is pointless, and destroying my electronics only leaves me bleeding and broke while he laughs from the walls.

What I don’t know is whether any of that changes once I get out of this condo.

That is the first problem.

Silas made sure the front door is useless, and I’m high enough up that climbing out a window would turn this experiment into a very short suicide note. But buildings have access points. Vents, maintenance panels, service spaces.

Somewhere behind these walls there has to be something that connects my unit to the rest of the building.

I look toward the ceiling.

The vent above the hallway suddenly feels a lot more interesting than it did five minutes ago.

Maybe this place matters more than I realize. Maybe distance weakens whatever connection he has to me.

Maybe there is a point where the signal starts to break down, where he can still find me but cannot touch me, or where his hold finally starts to slip.

I’ve spent days letting Silas control every variable. He appears, pushes, tests, and waits to see what I do.

Tomorrow, I change that.