He had the dream again.
This time, it felt heavier—darker—like something had crawled out of his subconscious just to grab him by the throat. In the dream, he was running through an endless stretch of dusty plain, the sky burning with a reddish hue like evening had refused to become night. The ground vibrated beneath his feet, and behind him, the thunderous pounding of hooves grew closer. Much closer.
He didn't want to look back. Every instinct told him not to.
But fear has its own way of forcing curiosity.
When he finally turned his head, the sight should have made him scream, yet no sound escaped his mouth.
It was a bull—massive, muscular, steaming with rage—but it had no face. No eyes, no nostrils, no mouth. Just a blank, smooth surface where identity should be. A creature that shouldn't exist. A creature that seemed to know him.
That was the worst part.
A faceless thing that somehow felt familiar.
In the split second before it charged at him, he froze—not because of fear, but because of the sickening realization that he had seen this before. Twice. And each time, the dream grew closer, clearer, more aggressive.
The bull lunged toward him, and the moment its invisible face nearly touched his chest—
Abed jolted awake, gasping, drenched in cold sweat.
For a long moment, he stared at the ceiling of his room, the faint hum of the ceiling fan slicing the silence. His heartbeat refused to slow down. He wiped his forehead with the back of his palm and sat up, elbows on knees, palms covering his face.
"This can't continue," he whispered into his palms.
Three times. The same faceless bull. The same chase. The same sense of doom.
He wasn't superstitious, but he wasn't foolish either. Nightmares don't repeat themselves this precisely unless something is terribly wrong. And the worst feeling wasn't even fear — it was helplessness. A deep, persistent feeling that something was closing in on him. Something real.
But what exactly?
He had no answer.
With shaky breath, he stood up and prepared for work. He didn't check the time at first; he simply wanted to escape the room, the dream, his own thoughts. His gut told him this wasn't random. Something was unfolding around him, and he didn't know how to stop it.
Maybe Rika would know something.
Maybe she would understand.
Or at least, he hoped she wouldn't laugh it off.
That hope was fragile.
When he arrived at the office gate, the stillness unsettled him. No chatter. No footsteps. No cars pulling into the lot. His shoes echoed against the pavement as he walked inside, confusion creeping onto his face. Something felt off.
He pushed open the glass door and glanced at the wall clock near the reception.
6:37 a.m.
"What am I doing here?" he muttered under his breath.
He felt foolish. He must have rushed out without even checking the time. First- and second-level staff didn't have a strict resumption hour, but still—he was nearly three hours early. Gone were the old days when he would stroll in at 10:15 a.m. with an apologetic smile plastered over his lateness. Now he was here before dawn, standing in an office that felt abandoned.
Maybe lack of sleep had thrown off his internal rhythm.
Maybe the dream had drained him more than he admitted.
He rubbed his eyes as he walked toward his desk.
"Good morning, Abed."
The voice startled him so sharply he almost dropped his bag. He turned quickly—and felt relief wash through him.
"Rika? You scared me. What are you doing here this early?"
She walked toward him slowly, her usually bright eyes dim, carrying the heavy weight of exhaustion. Even her voice sounded tired.
"I should be asking you that," she said. "I'm second level staff. I don't have an official hour. You… do."
He chuckled weakly. "You're right. I—I didn't even realize the time."
Rika leaned against the nearest desk, arms wrapped around herself. She hesitated for a moment, then let out a small, trembling sigh.
"It's actually good I met you here," she said quietly. "I… I think something's wrong with me, Abed."
His eyebrows pulled together. "Wrong? How do you mean?"
She took a shaky breath before speaking. "I haven't slept properly in days. Every time I close my eyes, I get attacked by nightmares. Not the usual type—these ones feel real, like something is watching me even after I wake up." She swallowed hard. "I keep jolting awake… sweating… confused. And it's getting worse. I can't eat, I can't focus, I'm losing weight. Sometimes, I feel like I'm losing my mind."
Her voice cracked on the last sentence.
Abed stood still, feeling a cold shiver crawl down his spine.
This was too similar to be a coincidence.
The dreams.
The fear.
The feeling of something closing in.
He opened his mouth to respond, but Rika continued, tears brimming in her eyes.
"Abed, I think I'm dying."
The silence that followed was thick—heavy enough to crush breath. For a moment, Abed couldn't move. He couldn't think. It was as if her words had suddenly connected two invisible dots in his mind.
Rika wasn't just describing fear.
She was describing him.
The repeated nightmares. The exhaustion. The anxiety. The sense of something hunting him.
It was the same.
Exactly the same.
His legs felt unstable, but he forced himself to stand. Slowly, he walked toward her, the weight of shared fear tightening in his chest. When he reached her, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders.
"Rika," he said softly.
She lifted her eyes to him. They were glistening with confusion, pain, and fear.
He pulled her into a tight hug.
"We'll be fine," he whispered. "We'll be fine."
He wasn't sure if he believed the words, but he needed her to hear them. He needed to hear them himself.
Because whatever this was—
Whatever shadow was creeping into their lives—
It wasn't just coming for one of them.
It was coming for both.
And maybe… it had already begun