Irene Gray blinked against the cold morning light, her head pounding like a drum inside her skull. Damp earth pressed against her palms, and the scent of wet pine filled her nose. She tried to sit up, but her body ached in ways she didn’t remember from the accident that had—what had happened? She frowned, memories scattered.

The road. The screeching tires. A blinding light. And now… this?

“Okay… this is… just a dream,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “I just need to wake up.”

She pushed herself to her feet, brushing dirt from her black jeans and leather jacket, squinting through the mist. Towering trees loomed overhead, their branches twisting like fingers against a gray sky. Every sound—the rustle of leaves, the distant drip of water—made her skin prickle.