The night came heavy with fog, curling around the cottage like a warning. Maya couldn't sleep. The vision, the floating cup—it all felt like a door had opened, and behind it, the storm was waiting.
She stepped outside, barefoot on the cold porch wood, letting the silence settle. That's when she felt it again.
Watched.
A whispering sensation crawled along her neck, not just paranoia—but presence.
Across the field, near the line of trees, a shadow moved.
She tensed. "Daniel?"
No response.
She turned to go back inside—only to see Daniel standing behind the door, pale and alert.
"You felt it too," he said. It wasn't a question.
"They're close, aren't they?"
"Yes." He pulled a long-forgotten suitcase from beneath the floorboards. Inside were files marked with names. Her name. And others.
"Who are these people?" she asked, flipping through.
"Others like you. But most didn't make it out. You're one of the last."
Maya's breath caught as she stopped at one file—Project Iris—and beneath it, a name: Elias Ward.
She touched it as though burned. "Why does that name feel like… home?"
Daniel was silent for a moment. "Because he was the only one you ever trusted. And they made you forget him."
A gust of wind slammed the door shut behind them. Maya didn't flinch.
Instead, she whispered, "Let them come."