When I woke up, the first thing I saw was my friend's face.
Druhva.
She was sitting beside me, her hand gripping mine so tightly I could feel her pulse shaking through her skin. The smell of antiseptic and cheap air freshener hit me — the nurse's office.
Her voice came out soft, careful.
"Feeling better?"
I blinked, looking around. The room spun, light too bright, too sharp.
"N-no," I croaked, my throat dry as dust. "It's back."
Her eyes widened, that flash of fear she always tried to hide breaking through. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she leaned closer, whispering, "If you can walk… come now."
My brows pulled together. "What? Where? And why now?"
Druhva didn't even blink. Her face went cold, serious. The kind of look that makes your stomach drop before your brain catches up.
"You need to see Adrian," she said.
The room went silent.
Even the clock stopped ticking — or maybe I just couldn't hear it anymore.
Adrian.
That name hit like static in my head. I didn't know why. I'd heard it before.
Somewhere.
Maybe in a dream.
Druhva didn't give me a damn second to breathe. She just grabbed my hand, her grip tight—like she was dragging me out of a grave.
"Come on," she said, and before I could even open my mouth, she was already pulling me out of the nurse's office.
The nurse looked up from her clipboard. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine," Druhva said too fast, too sharp.
Fine, my ass. My head still spun, and my skin was colder than death. The halls outside smelled like floor cleaner and bad cafeteria food. My shoes squeaked on the tiles as we walked, but it felt like I wasn't even really there. Like my body was moving, but my soul stayed behind in that dream—where whispers clawed at my name.
"Where are we going?" I asked, voice shaking just a bit.
"To see Adrian."
"Who the hell is that?"
She didn't answer. Just kept walking, faster, like she was scared the walls might start talking if she slowed down. And maybe… maybe they would.
My chest tightened. Adrian. That name alone felt heavy, like it carried secrets I wasn't supposed to know. I tried to remember if I'd ever heard it before, but it felt too familiar. Like I'd whispered it in my sleep once, long before I ever met Druhva.
The world outside the window looked wrong. The fog was thicker now, clinging to the glass like it was watching us. And for a second, I swore I saw the trees again—their dark silhouettes curling closer to the building. My pulse started to race.
"Druhva…" I said quietly. "What if I'm going crazy?"
She stopped walking. Turned to me, her face pale. "You're not crazy."
"Then what the hell's happening to me?" I asked. My voice cracked halfway through it, weak and angry all at once. "Every time I close my eyes, I end up there. I see things that don't exist. I hear voices. I feel—"
"I know," she cut in, her tone steady but her eyes… they looked scared. "That's why we need him."
We turned a corner, into an older part of the college. The walls were cracked, the lights flickered. The air was colder here—colder in a way that felt unnatural, like the warmth had been sucked out.
Then she stopped in front of a door. It wasn't labeled, but there was a faint mark carved into the wood—something like a crescent moon tangled in roots. I didn't know why, but my stomach twisted at the sight of it.
Druhva took a breath. "He's inside."
The air felt thicker. Like the whole damn hallway was holding its breath.
"Wait," I whispered. "Who is he really?"
She looked me dead in the eyes.
"The only person who's ever walked out of the nightmare alive."
She knocked once. The door creaked open on its own. Cold air poured out like a breath from something ancient.
And there he was.
Sitting in the corner of the dimly lit room, a man with silver-gray eyes that looked straight through me. His hair was messy, like he hadn't slept in years, and when his gaze met mine—I swear, the whole world went silent.
He didn't speak. Didn't even blink. Just studied me like he already knew every secret I'd ever tried to bury.
And for a moment… I felt it again. That same cold whisper from my dream.
The forest.
The door.
The voice that said I wasn't supposed to be there.
Only this time—it didn't come from the trees.
It came from him-