This dream was different. I was in a house I didn’t recognize, a sprawling, unfamiliar place with long hallways and countless doors. It felt like a maze, and I was lost within it. I called out for you, my voice echoing off the walls, but there was no answer. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating, as I moved from room to room, opening door after door, each one revealing nothing but emptiness.

Then I came to a door that was locked. The handle was cold, unyielding beneath my hand. I pressed my ear to the wood, hoping to hear something—anything—that would tell me where you were. At first, there was nothing. Just silence. Then, faintly, I heard it—whispers. They were soft, urgent, impossible to make out, but they were there. My heart began to race as the whispers grew louder, more frantic. They sounded desperate, pleading for help.

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I rattled the handle, tried to force the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. The whispers grew louder still, a cacophony of voices, until they were all I could hear. I threw my weight against the door, and suddenly, it swung open. I stumbled into the room, but it was empty. Dark. The whispers stopped, cut off as if they had never been there at all. The silence that followed was even more unnerving, and I felt a deep, sinking dread settle in my stomach.