The whisper hadn’t left Violet since dawn.

It lingered soft, haunting, and human. I’m not your enemy.

She told herself it was exhaustion. A byproduct of sleepless nights and too many ghosts. But every time she blinked, she swore she could still hear it. Not from the world outside, but from somewhere within as though the voice had found a way to live beneath her pulse.

By mid morning, the hospital corridors felt foreign. Machines beeped with a rhythm she couldn’t trust. The air smelled faintly metallic, like static before a storm. Every reflection every flicker of light against glass felt alive, watching.

Violet moved faster than usual, clutching her...