The bunker. The scent of rusted iron fills the air—as if pain itself has seeped into the walls. The cold bites deep. Every cell in my body tightens, as if trying to disappear. Cracks run through the concrete like old wounds carved into stone.
Everything feels frozen. Like time itself is holding its breath.
My eyes scan the space, trying to understand where I am. And then it hits me—the house and the basement from the vision weren't separate places. They're the same—two versions of a prison. There are two sides to the fear.
A sudden warmth brushes my shoulder. I spin, startled.
I open my eyes—or maybe I never closed them. I'm here again. Or perhaps it isn't the place I remember, but the echo of it. A phantom breath, a memory. Or maybe it is simply the fear of not being able to let go of life. The feeling clings to me like a scar that never fades.
My knees tremble. My body recognizes danger before my mind can. I exhale—but the shaking inside refuses to stop.
Something creaks outside the window. Maybe it's just the wind. Maybe not.
I can't be alone with this. There's only one voice that steadies me—Dylan's. I need his stillness, his way of grounding me like an anchor in a storm.
I find him on the porch, leaning on the railing, elbows resting. He gazes into the distance, as if listening to whispers I can't hear. A soft breeze weaves through his hair. His face is calm—but alert.
I approach, lips parting, but he already knows. His eyes close. He breathes quietly. The air around him shifts—like always, he doesn't just listen. He steps into the dream.
"Hm… that's interesting," he says suddenly, his voice low and distant.
I frown. "What is it?"
"When you looked through the window, you weren't just seeing fear. You saw something real—a familiar street sign. The way the space was arranged—it wasn't random. That place has a face. And now… we have a direction."
How did I miss that? How did I forget?
And then another detail stirs inside me—a tactile memory, too rough to be imagined. A television flickers in the background. No sound. The only sound present is sign language. The detail was too commonplace and too precise to be a coincidence.
"What if it's a trap?"
Abigail's voice cuts through from behind me. She stands in the doorway, her tone sharp, slicing through the fragile hope.
"I've seen how he plays with minds," she says. "This isn't just a gut feeling."
"And what if it isn't just a game?" I ask. "He showed me something he shouldn't have. Maybe it was a mistake—or maybe it's an opening."
"I see danger—and you chase hope. Even when it doesn't belong."
Her words sink like stones in my chest. She's not wrong. There's fear in her logic. But hope has teeth, too.
"So what am I supposed to do?" My voice drops to a whisper. "Ignore it? Pretend it means nothing? Then what—search for Allison and Jace forever?"
A weight settles over me. I sit, leaning back into the chair. Despair creeps in, slow and cold, like water flooding the cracks. My hands fall limp. My head tilts back. My eyes fix on the ceiling. I see nothing.
But in the hush—something shifts—maybe not the truth, but something close.
My silence is more dangerous than my doubt.
And what if I'm wrong? What if it is a trap, and we run straight into the abyss? But if I'm right… If he's really there… I can't sit still.
I rise.
If I act, I might lose myself. If I don't, I'll lose them all.
Time is up. And time… never turns back.