Josh wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep.
But the moment his eyes shut, the world shifted.
Not the old dream. Not exactly.
He stood in the middle of the hallway again — that same scorched plaster smell, the flickering overhead lights, the sound of someone pounding against reinforced glass.
But it wasn't him in the center of the storm this time.
It was Ty.
The boy was barefoot, wrapped in one of their blankets, eyes wide and panicked. He was pounding on the console outside the sealed entryway, screaming something unintelligible.
Behind him, shadows moved. Dozens of them. Faces half-formed. Hands pressed to the glass. One of them held a knife. Another held—
Josh turned his head.
Jessi.
She was inside, trapped. Banging on the inner door. Her mouth moved but made no sound. She looked at Ty — really looked at him — and her expression crumpled into something close to heartbreak.
Then he heard it:
"She said you'd come for him."
The voice didn't belong to Ty. Or Jessi.
It came from behind.
Josh turned.
But all he saw was a hand — pale, spidery fingers resting on Ty's shoulder — and a woman's voice whispering,
"Now let us in."
Then everything went black.
Josh jerked awake with a strangled breath.
He was cold. Clammy. Drenched.
That wasn't a dream. That was a countdown.
--
Josh found Jules in the greenhouse, elbow-deep in a bin of soil. She was mid-lecture to a seedling when she caught his reflection in the glass.
"Either Houdini learned how to walk upright or something's wrong," she said without turning.
Josh didn't smile. Just said, "I had another dream."
That got her attention.
She stood, brushing dirt off her palms. "Same one?"
"No. Different. Ty was in it. Or... maybe it wasn't Ty. But the door was open. Someone was inside. There was a voice behind him I couldn't see. I think—" He swallowed. "I think they used him to get in."
Jules was quiet, processing.
"Rosie?" she asked.
He nodded.
Jules swore softly under her breath.
"We already have him locked down. He can't do anything from the holding room."
"Yeah," Josh said. "But what if we're wrong? What if this is the setup?"
She crossed to the greenhouse console, wiped her hand on her pant leg, and pulled up the security grid. "Then we change the locks. Again."
He was already handing her the revised access codes, thumb drive warm from his pocket. "This cuts access from all lower-level terminals. Emergency overrides can only be done from inside the command room, by you or me."
"Manual key?"
"Gone. Removed the backup. It's full lockdown now. Jessi doesn't even know."
Jules slid the drive into the terminal and entered her authorization. The panels blinked. Grid secure.
"So if Ty is part of it—" she began.
"Then he never gets the chance to open anything," Josh finished. "Not without tipping his hand."
They both looked toward the far stairwell, as if they could feel the weight of the boy two floors below. The weak knock of a memory trying to repeat.
Jules said, "We watch him. Every shift. Every glance."
Josh nodded. "And if the dream was right…"
"We shut it down," she said, "before it starts."
--
Ty sat curled on the cot, knees to chest, a thermal blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape. His face was pale, lips still cracked despite the hydration packs. The plexiglass wall hummed with quiet air cycling.
Josh watched from the observation room, sipping coffee that had long gone cold.
Jules stood beside him, arms crossed.
It was the third day. One more night and the seventy-two hours would be up.
Ty shifted, glancing at the upper corner of the room.
"Again," Josh murmured.
Jules frowned. "What?"
"Third time today. He keeps looking at the sensor panel. Always that corner. Like he's… measuring something."
As they watched, Ty rose slowly to his feet. He stretched — too deliberately — then moved toward the edge of the room. He didn't go to the food slot. He didn't look at the camera.
Instead, he stood just beneath the ceiling vent, reached up, and pressed his hand to the panel beneath it.
Five seconds.
Then he turned and sat down again like nothing happened.
Jules leaned in. "Why test the panel? That's not a weak point."
"Unless someone told him it was," Josh said grimly.
They watched in silence a little longer.
Ty didn't look up again.
But they both knew.
This wasn't just a kid recovering.
This was someone mapping the room.
Someone waiting for a signal.
Someone who might not be alone.