I woke with a gasp, the world still humming from the night’s terror. My pulse hammered against my ribs like a drum. I had to breathe. I forced myself to sit up, the sheets tangled around my legs. My mind replayed the dream—her voice, the darkness, the leather book, the face I knew too well. I was still shaking. The kitchen was a blur. I poured water into a glass, the liquid catching the light. I stared at my reflection in the window. My eyes were hollow, my skin pale. It was the same as in the dream. I felt the chill that had never left. The whisper floated in my ears, a thin thread of words: “I’ve been waiting for you, brother. And now, it’s time to pay the price.” I grabbed the paper from the floor, my fingers trembling. The ink was red, the message urgent. “Meet me at the old oak tree at midnight. Come alone.” I looked at the clock. 11:45. I had fifteen minutes. I was already late. I slammed the kitchen door, the wood splintering under my hand. The footsteps outside were heavy, slow. They crept closer, each step a promise of something that wasn’t there yet. My heart pounded. I turned to open the door. The darkness swallowed the hallway. A cold wind brushed against my cheek. I could feel something, something breathing, waiting. My mind screamed to run, but the need to know gnawed at me like a parasite. I shoved the door open. The night was a black ocean, stars hiding behind clouds. The air was thick with dampness. I stepped out, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath my weight. My breath fogged in the cold air. The silence was a thick blanket. My ears rang. I pressed my palm to the door frame, feeling the vibration of the footsteps. They were no longer coming from the house. They had moved. I turned my head, eyes searching the darkness. There was no one. Then the old oak tree appeared, a silhouette against the sky. Its trunk was wide, gnarled roots like fingers gripping the earth. I could feel the ground beneath my feet, the weight of the tree’s age. My stomach flipped. I had to go. The paper was my compass, my only clue. I walked faster, every step a drumbeat in my ears. The wind whispered my name. The tree’s branches rustled. Something shifted in the shadows. My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen—no signal. I swallowed, feeling my throat tighten. My breath became a ragged cloud. The footsteps stopped. A pause, a breath held. The silence was suffocating. I reached the base of the tree, the roots like a maze. I crouched, my fingers brushing the bark. The air was colder here. A scent of earth, old wood, something metallic. My heart hammered. I felt a presence behind me. I spun around, heart racing. The darkness pressed against my back. I could feel something close, something breathing. A shape emerged, not quite solid. Its outline was vague, but the shape was unmistakably a person. The figure was tall, cloaked in darkness. A leather-bound book hung from its belt. The book was the same one from my dream. Its cover was worn, the leather cracked. It glowed faintly, like a pulse of red light. The figure stepped forward, its feet making no sound on the forest floor. I could feel the weight of its gaze. I could hear the soft click of a lock, a whisper in my ear: “You came.” The world blurred. I stumbled backward, the ground slipping under my feet. I felt a hand reach for me,