Alex woke with a jolt, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. The chilling echo of "your people await you" still resonated in his ears, a familiar torment from a dream that was becoming terrifyingly real. He sat up, the damp sheets clinging to his skin, and stared at the ceiling. The fan whirred, yet he was drenched. He swung his legs out of bed, the wooden floor cool beneath his bare feet, and walked to the wall, flicking on the light. The harsh glow illuminated his soaked bed. "Same dream again," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He didn't believe in dreams, but this one felt different, each repetition more vivid, more insistent. A sudden, insistent banging on his door startled him, pulling him from his thoughts. He snatched his phone from the blue plastic table behind his bed. The screen glowed to life, revealing the time. "Oh fuck!" he screamed. It was past seven.