It started with a radio.
A tiny, cracked one. Dusty. Outdated.
Just sitting on the kitchen counter of an abandoned apartment he didn’t remember entering.
Kade stared at it.
It wasn’t plugged in.
There were no batteries.
But it was humming.
Low static.
And then—click—
A voice.
Not quite human.
> “You were not supposed to light it.”
He didn’t breathe.
The Drag had whispered before—but this… this was clear.
Spoken.
It wasn’t in his head. It wasn’t memory. It wasn’t a dream.
The voice spoke through the radio in jagged syllables.
Like a machine imitating regret.
> “We watched you sleep for seven thousand versions. You were always meant to forget.”
> “But then you smoked.”
> “And remembered.”
Kade’s throat tightened.
He stepped back. The floor felt wrong beneath
