July 30, 2054.
I wake up choking.
Not gasping. Choking. Like something has its hands around my throat. Like I forgot how to breathe. My body jerks, my back slams against the mattress, my fingers claw at my neck, nothing's there.
I drag in a breath. My lungs burn. The silence is unnatural, stretching across the room like a held breath.
I always know what time it is before I open my eyes. I always know what happens next before it does. My mind is an endless stream of knowledge, wrapping around past, present, future, an ocean with no shore.
But now?
Now, it's silent.
No flashes of the next five minutes. No glimpses of the future pressing against my skull.
Nothing.
I push myself up, and my stomach turns. The room feels…off. I know this space. I've lived in it. But something is wrong.
The bed is too far from the window. The walls are a shade lighter. The floor, was it always that color? I don't remember.
I should remember.
A chill crawls up my spine.
I turn my head, too fast. There's something in the corner of my eye, something just at the edge of my vision. A shape. A shadow.
It flickers out of existence the second I try to look at it.
No.
I squeeze my eyes shut, force my breathing to slow. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe I'll wake up again, and everything will be normal. Maybe...
A whisper.
Close. Too close.
The sound is wrong, it doesn't slip into the air, it drags through it. Slow. Wet. Like a voice trying to form words with no lungs.
I whip around. The room is empty.
The whisper comes again.
Behind me.
The air shifts. I don't hear breathing, but I feel it, brushing against the back of my neck.
I lurch forward. My hands slam into the nightstand, knocking over the lamp. The light flickers, dims, then surges too bright. The bulb pops. Shards of glass scatter across the floor.
Then— Ihearit.
A knock.
Not hurried. Not hesitant.
One.
Two.
Three.
Each knock is too slow. Drawn out. Deliberate.
Like whoever is on the other side is savoring the moment.
My breath is gone again. I stare at the door. I should know who it is. I should know what happens next. But I don't.
And that means one thing.
Whatever is waiting for me…
It's not supposed to exist.