The room didn’t disappear, but it stopped making sense. Sounds came first. They were too loud, then too far away. Someone swore. A chair scraped. Smoke barked sharp and frantic, like he was trying to pull me back by the sound alone.
My hands wouldn’t work.
I told them to open. To drop the tray. To do anything. They stayed locked, fingers curled tight like they were gripping something invisible.
My chest burned. Not in pain but in pressure. Like my lungs were only pulling in half a breath and refusing the rest. I knew I needed air. I knew I wasn’t trapped. But my body didn’t care what I knew.
Move, I ordered myself.
Nothing happened.
That was the worst part. Not the fear, not the memories, but the moment where I realized I was watching myself fail to respond. Awake. Aware. Stuck inside a body that had decided danger was already here.
The sound of crying. Muffled. Broken.
I couldn’t move.
My body went cold and hot at the same time, sweat breaking out across my neck, my lower back. My fingers curled uselessly, locking in place like they didn’t belong to me anymore.
Breathe.
I tried. I couldn’t pull enough air in. My lungs refused to work right, like they didn’t remember how.
Someone crouched in front of me.
“Hey—hey—don’t move,” a voice said. Calm. Firm.
Doc.
His face came into focus slowly. He held his hands up where I could see them. Didn’t touch me. Didn’t crowd me.
“Look at me,” he said. “Not behind you. Right here.”
I tried. My eyes slid past him, catching on shadows, on the hallway, on the door at the end I didn’t remember opening.
Smoke barked.
Sharp. Protective.
Boots thundered from the other side of the room.
I didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Wrecker hit the doorway like a storm breaking.
He crossed the room in three strides and dropped in front of me, hands firm on my shoulders. Not shaking. Not gentle. Solid.
“Red.” His voice cut through the noise. “Look at me. It’s me.”
I locked onto his face like it was a lifeline.
His eyes were steady. Grounded. Not panicked.
“You’re here,” he said. “You’re in the clubhouse. You dropped a tray. That’s it. Nothing else is happening.”
My breath hitched.
“I—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. My throat closed, tight and burning.
