Sleep does not come easily. The city hums outside my hospital window, but my mind refuses to rest. When I finally drift off, the fire finds me.
It starts as a smell first smoke thick and choking. My lungs ache as if I am still breathing it in. The heat presses against my skin. It wraps around me, relentless, inescapable. Flames dance on walls that should be solid, the crackle sharp enough to make my ears ring.
And then the doorway.
I see it again, the shadowed figure standing there, silent, watching. It does not move. It does not save me. It only watches. My name falls from its lips, almost like a warning, almost like an accusation.
I struggle to run. My legs feel like lead. My body is trapped beneath heat and smoke. My chest tightens. I cough, desperate for air, desperate to live.
And then, hands. Strong hands that grip me, pull me, carry me. Safety. For a moment, the world narrows to the warmth of those hands and the rush of motion. I am alive. I am lifted from the fire.
But the memory does not end.
I remember the pain, the fear, the betrayal. Someone close wanted me gone. Someone I should have been able to trust. And someone else, a stranger, intervened, saving me when everything seemed lost.
I wake with a start. My sheets are tangled, my heart racing. The room is quiet. The sunlight filtering through the blinds does nothing to ease the memory pressing against my chest. The fire is not there. The shadow is gone. But I feel them both the one who tried to kill me, and the one who saved me looming over my life even now.
I reach for my phone. A message waits. Unknown number.
Did the dream scare you, or are you just finally remembering?
I bite my lip. It is him. The stranger. The one who has been watching. He knows, somehow. He has been keeping track of me, understanding my fear before I even voice it.
I type back quickly, my fingers trembling. Both. I remember everything. I do not know how I feel about that.
Feel what you want. Just survive first.