Content Warning:
This chapter contains intense themes of death, grief, emotional trauma, implied abuse, and psychological distress. Reader discretion is advised.
In the master bedroom, another soul twisted in torment.
Clyde's brow furrowed in his sleep, twitching as if resisting something unseen. A faint grimace pulled at the corners of his lips. His chest rose and fell with short, unsteady breaths. Beneath closed eyes, his pupils darted rapidly, trapped in a dream that felt more real than the waking world.
He was running. Chasing. Something. No, Someone. But the more he ran, the farther that person slipped from reach, a silhouette just beyond the edges of his grasp. His heart pounded violently, each thump echoing with desperation. He stumbled over the ground, pushing himself harder. Faster. But always, always too late.
He was confused. Frantic. Searching low and high.
He didn't know why he was running, only that he had to reach them.
