The static on the radio was the only thing louder than the wind howling against the corrugated metal walls of Station 11. Elias stared at the glowing monitors, his eyes stinging. He hadn't slept in thirty-six hours.
"Listen to this," Elias said, his voice raspy. He traced a line of shaky text. 'The spheres are not hunters; they are reflections. They do not find us in the station; they find us in the mind. To survive the sleep, you must anchor the dream.' distrust-codex
Vera hesitated, looking at the wire. The wind roared outside, a literal beast trying to kick down the door. The temperature in the room was dropping to ten below. "I'll go first," she said, her voice small. The static on the radio was the only