The next few days passed in a blur. Abby was recovering physically, her wound healing faster than expected, but there was something else that weighed heavily in the air. Something that neither Remo nor Abby could name, but both could feel.
Abby had noticed the shift in her thoughts. Small things at first—misplaced items, forgotten moments—but it was easy to write off as stress. She was recovering from a traumatic experience after all. She told herself it was normal. But then, the whispers began.
It started as faint murmurs at the edge of her mind, a voice she couldn't place. A nagging sensation that she wasn't alone, even when the room was empty. She tried to ignore it, to chalk it up to exhaustion and anxiety, but the voices grew louder with each passing day, their words indistinct but persistent. They spoke to her in moments of silence, a constant, maddening hum.
