Chapter 3: Interference

The singing was coming from everywhere now—not just beneath their feet but through the walls, vibrating in Maya’s bones like a tuning fork struck against her spine.

Elena’s hand was still on the door handle when footsteps pounded down the stairs behind them.

“Priya! Thank God, I found you.”

They turned to see a young man stumbling down the narrow stairwell, phone flashlight bouncing wildly in his grip. Early twenties, expensive sneakers, the kind of precisely disheveled hair that took effort to achieve. He looked like he’d run several blocks.

“Shit,” Priya muttered under her breath.

“Priya, what are you doing down here? The whole city’s going crazy upstairs. Cars dead in the street, people losing their minds—” He spotted Maya and Elena, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Who are these people?”

“Devon.” Priya’s voice had gone flat, all the playful energy draining out of it. “How did you find me?”

“I tracked your location before the networks went down. I’ve been looking for you since yesterday.” Devon moved closer, and Maya noticed the way Priya stepped back. “You disappeared after our fight. You wouldn’t answer my texts.”

“We didn’t fight. You yelled at me for twenty minutes about how I’m wasting my potential, then I left.”

The singing grew louder, more complex—multiple voices weaving harmonies that made the air itself seem to shimmer.

Devon’s flashlight beam swung wildly as he looked around the basement. “What is that sound? Is someone playing music?”

“Devon, you need to leave,” Priya said.

“Are you kidding? It’s chaos up there. People are freaking out about some kind of power grid failure, there are rumors about earthquakes, and you want me to leave you alone with—” He gestured at Maya and Elena like they were suspicious strangers instead of people trying to help.

Maya felt her organizing instincts kick in. “I’m Maya Chen, I run community response programs. This is Elena, head librarian. We’re trying to understand what’s happening.”

“What’s happening is some kind of infrastructure attack. Probably foreign hackers. And my girlfriend—”

“I’m not your girlfriend,” Priya said sharply.

“—is down in some creepy basement instead of somewhere safe.”

Elena had been listening with the patient expression of someone who’d dealt with difficult patrons for decades. Now she stepped forward. “Young man, I think you should—”

The door behind her swung open.

Not pushed—it simply opened, as if someone on the other side had been waiting for the right moment.

Warm air flowed out, carrying scents Maya couldn’t identify—earth and growing things and something that reminded her of the ocean. The singing stopped abruptly, leaving a silence so complete that their breathing sounded harsh and intrusive.

Devon’s flashlight beam cut through the doorway, revealing stone steps that descended into darkness.

“What the hell?” His voice cracked slightly. “Elena, what is this place?”

“Archives,” Elena said calmly, but Maya could hear the tension underneath. “Historical documents. Storage.”

“That doesn’t look like storage.” Devon played his light along walls that were clearly much older than the rest of the building—rough stone fitted together without mortar, surfaces worn smooth by time and touch.

A sound drifted up from below. Not singing now, but voices speaking in low tones, words in a language that felt familiar even though Maya was certain she’d never heard it before.

Priya moved toward the doorway like she was being pulled by invisible threads. “They’re waiting.”

“Who’s waiting?” Devon grabbed her arm. “Priya, you’re acting crazy. We need to get out of here and find somewhere safe.”

“Let go of me.”

“You’re not thinking straight. You’ve been manic all week, working on that weird art project, barely sleeping—”

“Devon.” Priya’s voice carried a warning Maya had heard before—the tone of someone whose patience was about to snap completely.

“I’m trying to help you!”

“By following me? By deciding what I need without asking?”

The voices from below grew slightly louder, and Maya caught something that sounded almost like laughter—warm, amused, patient.

Devon’s grip tightened on Priya’s arm. “I care about you. Someone has to look out for you when you get like this.”

That’s when Priya’s control broke.

“Like what?” Her voice pitched higher, sharp enough to cut. “Like when I see things you can’t see? Like when I know things that don’t fit your narrow little worldview? Like when I’m finally connecting to something real instead of pretending to be normal enough for you to—”

“You’re having some kind of breakdown!”

“I’m having a breakthrough!”

The argument echoed off the stone walls, harsh and discordant after the beautiful singing. Maya felt the moment fracturing—Devon’s fear and need for control crashing against whatever was trying to emerge from below.

Elena stepped between them. “That’s enough.”

Something in her voice made them both stop shouting.

“Devon,” Elena continued, her tone gentle but implacable, “you’re not ready for this. And that’s okay. But you can’t force readiness on someone else, and you can’t stop it by holding on too tightly.”

“Ready for what?”

Elena looked at him with something like compassion. “To let go of everything you think you know about how the world works.”

A figure appeared in the doorway below—tall, graceful, with eyes that seemed to hold starlight. Not entirely human, but not alien either. Something that looked like what humans might become if they remembered how to be fully themselves.

Devon’s flashlight beam caught the figure’s face, and he made a sound like a sob.

“This isn’t real,” he whispered.

The figure smiled—kind, patient, infinitely sad.

“Reality,” it said in a voice like distant music, “is much larger than you’ve been taught.”

Devon dropped his phone. The flashlight beam spun across the walls as the device clattered down the stone steps, its light flickering and dying.

In the sudden darkness, Maya heard him running—footsteps pounding up the stairs, stumbling, fleeing toward whatever remained of the ordinary world above.

Priya’s voice was soft in the darkness. “He’s going to tell people.”

“Yes,” Elena said. “He is.”

“And they won’t believe him,” the figure said from below, moving closer. “But some will. And those who are ready will come looking.”

Maya felt something shift in her chest—fear transmuting into recognition, resistance melting into acceptance of something she’d been preparing for without knowing it.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

The figure’s smile was visible even in the darkness, as if it carried its own light.

“Now,” it said, “you come home.”