Elias couldn't shake off the dream. Every time he closed his eyes, the flames danced behind his lids. Maya's scream echoed in his head long after he was awake. It didn't feel like fiction anymore. It felt like a ticking clock, getting louder by the hour.
By morning, the fear had hardened into resolve. He had to talk to her. He had to warn her, no matter how crazy it sounded.
---
At the office, Maya looked up from her desk when Elias walked in, a little earlier than usual. He was pale, sleep-deprived, and visibly tense.
"You okay?" she asked.
"I need to talk to you," he said, not bothering with small talk.
Maya gestured to the break room, and they stepped inside.
Elias closed the door behind them. "You remember what you said… about someone trying to make me remember something I forgot?"
She nodded slowly.
"I think you were right. But it's not just about me. It's about you, too."
Maya raised an eyebrow. "Me?"
"There's going to be a fire. I saw it. I was there. You were trapped."
The silence that followed was uncomfortable.
"You saw it… in your dream?"
"Yes. But it felt different this time. Like it hasn't happened yet. Like I still have time to stop it."
Maya looked down, unsure whether to be scared or amused. "And how do you propose we stop a fire that hasn't happened yet?"
Elias shook his head. "I don't know. But I had to tell you."
She gave a small nod, her face unreadable. "Okay. Thanks for warning me."
But he could tell she didn't fully believe him.
---
Later that evening, Elias returned home and scanned through local news reports, building safety records, fire incidents—anything that could hint at a connection. Nothing.
Feeling helpless, he opened his journal. There was another new entry. This one chilled him to his bones:
Entry 11: "Telling her wasn't enough."
He didn't remember writing it. But it was in his handwriting. Fresh ink. A little smudged, as if written in a hurry.
Just below it was something more ominous:
"You were there before. You let it happen."
---
That night, Elias dreamed again.
But it wasn't the fire this time.
He was standing in a white hallway. Sterile. Cold. He heard whispers in the distance—faint, echoing.
And then he saw her.
Maya.
She was older. Wearing a hospital gown. Her face pale. Tired.
She looked at him with tears in her eyes. "You said you'd stop it."
Then everything shattered like glass.
---
He woke up gasping again.
His phone buzzed on the table. A message from Noah:
> "Hey, random thought. You still keeping that dream journal? I was reading about memory implants and experimental studies. Some of your stuff sounds eerily similar to test cases."
Memory implants?
Were his dreams planted? Were they not memories at all—but warnings someone else had embedded in him?
And if so… who? And why?
---
He called Maya the next morning. No answer.
Called again. Still nothing.
A sick feeling curled in his stomach.
---
At 11:12 AM, he got a message.
From an unknown number.
> "The fire wasn't meant to be prevented. You interfered."
And below it—a photo.
A blurry shot of an office hallway.
Smoke.
Panic.
And Maya's figure at the far end.
---