A Dream that Devours

Cass spun around.

The hallway stretched behind him, empty and silent.

But he had heard it.

A whisper, soft and too close.

"Wake up."

His breath hitched. His fingers clenched around the file in his hands, knuckles turning white.

Rich was standing a few steps away, his back rigid, his expression too carefully blank. His fingers twitched at his sides.

Cass swallowed hard. The cold air in the hallway pressed down on them, suffocating.

"Did you hear that?" Cass whispered.

Rich didn't answer at first. His eyes flicked toward the shadows ahead, his posture tense like he was waiting for something to move.

Then, after a long pause—

"No," he muttered. "But I can tell from your face that I should have."

Cass exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself. The whisper had been so real. It wasn't like the dreams—it hadn't been distant, echoing from nowhere.

It had been here.

Right behind him.

But there was no one else in the hallway.

Right?

Cass's pulse thudded against his ribs. The file in his hands felt too heavy, the paper too real beneath his fingertips.

If this was a dream… it wasn't like the others.

It wasn't unraveling. The air wasn't collapsing around him. He didn't feel the creeping sense of time running out.

It felt solid.

Which meant—this was real.

Cass inhaled sharply and flipped back to the last page of the file, staring at the words written in precise, clinical handwriting.

"He is starting to remember."

A chill crawled up his spine.

Cass looked up. Rich was watching him now, his expression unreadable.

"What's in there?" Rich asked.

Cass hesitated. Then he turned the file around, showing Rich the label.

Rich read it.

Then his face drained of color.

Cass swallowed. "They know."

Rich didn't move. Didn't breathe. His eyes flicked between the file and Cass's face, something unreadable passing over his features.

Cass braced himself for disbelief, for denial, for something.

But then—

"I knew it," Rich muttered.

Cass blinked. "What?"

Rich exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "I mean—I didn't know know, but… I had a feeling."

Cass stared at him. "Rich." His voice was tight. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Rich gave him a look, something flat and exhausted and sharp at the edges. "Cass, the more you talk, the more I forget things."

Cass's stomach plummeted.

Rich's jaw clenched. "Ever since you told me about my uncle. Ever since I started paying attention. It's been happening more. Little things. I'll be thinking about something, and then—gone."

Cass's breath hitched.

Rich took a step closer, lowering his voice. "You want to know why I came here tonight?" His eyes were dark, something raw and haunted behind them. "Because I knew if I didn't, I wouldn't remember I was supposed to."

Cass's pulse pounded.

The file in his hands felt like it was burning.

This wasn't just about him anymore.

Rich was slipping, too.

Cass inhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. The file. The building. The fact that this place should not exist.

What else was here?

His gaze flicked down the hallway.

There was still a door at the end.

Just like in his dream.

Cass looked back at Rich, his voice steady. "We keep going."

Rich let out a slow breath, then nodded.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Figured you'd say that."

They walked in silence, their footsteps barely making a sound against the floor. The hallway was too long now, stretching farther than it had before.

Rich sighed. "You ever think about how stupid this is?"

Cass glanced at him.

"I mean, we could just leave," Rich continued. "Turn around, walk out the way we came, pretend none of this happened."

"Would you?" Cass asked.

Rich let out a short laugh. "Hell no."

Cass smirked. "Then why bring it up?"

"Because it should be the right move, man," Rich muttered. "We should be running for the hills, not marching toward the creepy-ass door at the end of a too-long hallway."

Cass nodded. "Yeah. But we both know this isn't gonna stop if we leave."

Rich sighed. "Yeah. Figured you'd say that too."

The lights flickered.

Cass's stomach tightened.

The shadows at the end of the hall stretched.

And something moved.

A shape. Just beyond the reach of the light.

Cass stopped breathing.

Rich did too.

The hallway was too silent.

Then—

A sound.

A whisper.

Not words. Not yet.

Just the faintest exhale, like someone waiting.

Cass's fingers curled into fists.

"Keep moving," he muttered.

Rich nodded once.

They walked.

The hallway was longer than it should have been.

The walls felt closer.

The air thicker.

Rich whispered, "If something jumps out, I am punching it."

Cass swallowed. "Yeah?"

"Hell yeah," Rich muttered. "Don't even care if it's a ghost. You ever hear about those guys who try to box ghosts on TV? That's me. I wish one of them would."

Cass huffed. "Right. Because punching ghosts works."

"You got a better plan?"

"Not really."

"Then shut up and let me believe."

Cass almost laughed. Almost.

They reached the door.

Cass's fingers hovered over the handle.

Rich swallowed. "We're gonna regret this, huh?"

Cass didn't answer.

He twisted the handle and pushed it open.

The moment he did, the air changed.

It wasn't immediate—not a violent pull or a sudden collapse—but something more subtle, more insidious. The pressure in the room shifted, like stepping over an invisible boundary, like dipping beneath the surface of water without realizing you were sinking.

Rich exhaled sharply beside him.

"Shit."

Cass barely heard him.

His breath caught as he stared through the doorway.

Because what lay beyond wasn't just another room.

It was a city.