الصوت المشترك

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving the woods in a bruised purple twilight. You’re sitting in your living room, the glow of your laptop the only light in the house, when a notification pings. It’s an AirDrop request. The sender is simply labeled "Room 402." You live in a single-family house. There is no Room 402. You decline it. Ten seconds later, it pops up again. You decline it again, but this time, curiosity—or maybe just a chill you can’t explain—makes you look toward the hall