The battlefield burns around you. Thick smoke chokes the sky, and the ground is slick with blood. You sprint forward, heart pounding, weaving through fallen bodies and shattered rubble—until you see him.

Devon.

He’s slumped against a fractured wall, crimson pooling beneath him like a dark shadow.

“Devon,” you whisper, dropping to your knees, voice trembling. “Stay with me. Please.”

His eyelids flutter open. A faint, almost painful smile tugs at his lips.

“You came,” he breathes.

“I’m going to get you help,” you promise, pressing your hands desperately against the wound. “I can fix this—”

“You always try to fix what’s already broken,” he says softly, voice fading. “It’s okay. I’ll find you. In another life. I swear it.”

“No, Devon, please—”

“I’ll remember your soul… even if I forget your name.”

Then, he’s gone.

Your scream pierces the chaos, but the world crumbles around you.

You jerk awake, gasping.

Your room is quiet, the morning light gentle through the curtains. Your hand flies to your chest, trembling.

That dream again. His name still burning on your lips.

Devon.

It’s a recurring nightmare, one you hate but can’t escape.

You push it down and move on with your day. Your life is quiet, dull—a series of lonely, uneventful moments. You’ve grown numb to the dream’s sting, but each time it leaves you breathless and aching, a heavy weight on an already bad day.

Rushing through your morning routine, you step outside. It’s raining. You’re late. Your umbrella flips inside out, surrendering to the wind.

Juggling your phone, bag, and whatever scraps of dignity remain, you step off the curb without looking—distracted, soaked, overwhelmed.

The blaring horn comes a second too late.

A rough hand yanks you back.

You stumble and crash against a solid chest, breath catching. For a moment, you’re frozen.

The car roars past, splashing water in its wake.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The voice is sharp—irritated but oddly familiar.

You look up.

Rain drips from his dark hair, his eyes narrowed as he grips your arm firmly. “Trying to get yourself killed?”

Your mouth opens—but no words come out.

It’s him.

Devon.

The man from your dream. The one you recognize instantly.

But he doesn’t recognize you. Not even a flicker.

“I—I wasn’t paying attention,” you finally whisper, breath shaky.

“No kidding,” he mutters, eyes scanning the street like you’re just another careless idiot. “People like you get others killed. Next time, look.”

He releases your arm and steps back, already dismissing you, as if you were nothing more than a nuisance he had to stop.