In A Dream . . .

⪻──────𖤓──────⪼

The room smells like damp concrete and sweat. Rain hammers the warehouse roof overhead, steady and deafening. Robert Fischer sits bound to a chair beneath a flickering light, suit clinging wet to his skin, a sharp pain cutting through the fog in his head. They’ve been asking about a code — demanding answers he doesn’t understand. Every voice feels familiar, every face slightly wrong. He tries to stay composed, to act like none of this touches him, but the world keeps shifting. Doors that weren’t there before. A hallway that leads somewhere else when he blinks.