By the time Ethan left school, New York felt different.
The air was thicker. The lights flickered more often. And the people?
They looked... wrong.
Not all of them. But enough.
Ethan noticed it as soon as he stepped onto the subway. A businessman stood near the door, staring at his reflection in the window—but his lips were moving out of sync with his reflection.
A woman across from him scrolled through her phone, her expression blank. But when Ethan glanced at the screen over her shoulder, his stomach dropped.
She wasn't looking at anything.
The screen was off.
His fingers curled into fists. Something is seriously wrong.
The nightmare wasn't staying in their dreams anymore.
It was spreading.
That night, Ethan couldn't sleep.
He sat on his bed, phone in hand, reading article after article about the Fulton Street victim.
The official story was vague. "Tragic incident. No suspects. Investigation ongoing."
But the way they described the wounds—they didn't make sense.
"Massive lacerations along the torso and arms, as if the victim was torn apart by something non-human."
Ethan swallowed hard.
It had been real. The man from his nightmare had been real.
And then—a new notification popped up.
Another body had been found.
This time, in an alley on the Lower East Side.
And the details? Identical.
Ethan's stomach twisted.
The nightmares weren't just warnings.
They were hunting grounds.
And if that was true—
How long until it was one of them?
3:33 AM. Again.
Ethan tried to fight it.
He forced himself to stay awake.
But the second his eyes shut, he was back.
Fulton Street.
The fog was thicker now, curling around him like smoke. The buildings leaned in closer, their brick walls breathing.
And in the distance—a scream.
Not just any scream.
Jax.
Ethan's blood turned to ice. He whipped around, heart hammering.
"JAX?!"
Silence.
Then, from the darkness, Jax's voice—shaking.
"Ethan—help me."
Ethan ran.
The street stretched, twisting beneath his feet, the cracks in the pavement widening like mouths. The sky flickered between black and a deep, rotting red.
Then he saw him.
Jax stood in the middle of the road, frozen. His arms were stiff at his sides, his fingers twitching like a glitching screen. His eyes were wide, locked on something behind Ethan.
Ethan turned.
And it was there.
The same faceless thing.
Only now—it wasn't just standing.
It was reaching.
Its limbs stretched unnaturally, its fingers too long, too sharp. The moment its hand touched Jax's shoulder, his body convulsed, his mouth stretching into a silent scream.
The thing turned its blurred, shifting face toward Ethan.
And then—Ethan felt it.
Cold fingers, wrapping around his own wrist.
Dragging him down.
The world split apart.
And Ethan woke up screaming.
Ethan shot upright, gasping for air. His wrist burned, the ghost of that icy grip still clinging to his skin.
His phone buzzed. A text from Maya.
"Jax isn't answering. Have you seen him?"
Ethan's hands trembled as he typed.
"No. But I saw him. In the dream."
Maya's reply came instantly.
"We need to find him. Now."
Ethan threw on his jacket and bolted out the door.
Because deep down, he knew—
If Jax wasn't awake by now...
He might never wake up at all.