Luna remains in the bleeding phone booth, the receiver still warm from her mother's lullaby. The motel speaks through the static, confessing that it has known her voice since before she was born. She follows the bloodstains on the wall to a door that should not exist—a nursery where a crib rocks on its own. Inside, she finds a photograph of herself as an infant, held by a woman whose face she cannot see. The motel offers her a choice: leave the booth and forget everything, or stay and become the voice that answers the next call. Luna reaches for the photograph as the lullaby begins again, this time from inside her own throat.

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