The pain was the first thing I felt. A deep, splintering ache at the base of my skull radiates outward like a shockwave. My vision swam as I tried to push myself up from the cold, wet ground. Gravel bit into my palms. The lighthouse loomed in the distance, its rotating beam slicing through the fog.
I had no idea how long I’d been out.
Dr. Kane was gone.
I wiped my face. Blood smeared across the back of my hand—dripping from my nose, pooling in my ears. A sharp ringing buzzed in my skull, distant and unnatural, like a sound that didn't belong to this world.
Then I remembered.
That voice.
"You were never meant to exist."
It hadn’t been spoken. It had been placed inside my mind. A weightless, formless presence had invaded my thoughts, speaking with the finality of a death sentence.
I
