The scream tore through Noah’s throat as he jolted upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat. The sheets tangled around him like restraints, his breath ragged, pulse thudding in his ears.

  The dream lingered.

  Adrian. Blood. A flash of silver. Sirens wailing in the distance. The weight of helplessness, suffocating.

  He rubbed his eyes, trembling.

  It wasn’t just a nightmare. It felt… familiar. Like a memory forgotten then remembered too late.

  The clock blinked: 4:56 AM.

  Unable to go back to sleep, Noah threw on his hoodie, laced up his running shoes, and stepped into the early morning stillness.

  The streets were barely awake. A thin fog hugged the sidewalks like a ghost refusing to leave. The city pulsed in quiet heartbeats — distant traffic, the rustle of trees, the occasional bark.

  Noah jogged mechanically, his mind elsewhere. His dream still haunted him. He could still hear Adrian's voice — distant, desperate. He could still see—

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Thud.

  He collided with something — someone — and stumbled back.

  “Oh god, I’m so sorry—”

  It was an old woman. Tiny, hunched, bundled in layers of floral and lace, a scarf tied tightly under her chin.

  He instinctively reached out and steadied her.

  “Are you alright, ma’am?”

  She looked up at him with the kind of eyes that felt like they’d seen centuries.

  “I’m fine, dear,” she said, smiling. “Though I could use a hand crossing.”

  Noah nodded, still dazed, and guided her gently across the street.

  When they reached the other side, she didn’t let go of his hand.

  Instead, she leaned in, voice lowering.

  “What you saw in your dream…” she whispered. “It’s already happened. You’re the only one who can change how it ends.”

  Noah’s eyes widened. “What…? How do you—?”

  But she let go and turned the corner without another word.

  “Wait!” Noah shouted, heart racing.

  He sprinted after her.

  Turned the same corner.

  Nothing.

  No footsteps. No figure. No sign of her.

  Just the quiet dawn, and a black cat staring at him from atop a trash can.

  He stood frozen, breath clouding in the chill.

  Was he hallucinating? Sleep-deprived?

  He walked home in a daze. Every noise made him flinch. The fog had turned heavier, pressing down like a weight.

  Back in his apartment, he sat on the edge of his bed. Hands trembling.

  He stared at his phone. Then picked it up.

  The dial tone rang once. Twice.

  When the voice answered, Noah simply said, “We need to talk.”