Trench sat in his office, staring at the red light of the hotline phone. It hadn't rung since their return from the Astral Plane, but its silence felt heavier than usual. He drummed his fingers on the desk, replaying the entity's words in his mind. You will see.
There was always another layer to the Bureau's mysteries, another shadow hiding in the folds of reality. But this one felt different. Personal.
A sharp knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Before he could respond, Darling stepped in, looking more disheveled than usual, his glasses slightly askew. He held up a clipboard loaded with readings, his face pale.
"We have a problem," Darling said without preamble. He placed the clipboard on Trench's desk, tapping the data. "Emily's readings are fluctuating in ways I've never seen. It's not just residual energy from the Astral Plane—something is still connected to her."
Trench leaned forward, scanning the readings. The patterns were erratic, pulses of power spiking and receding like an irregular heartbeat. "Any physical manifestations?"
Darling hesitated. "Not yet. But she keeps mentioning the whispers. They're getting clearer."
Trench's grip tightened on the clipboard. "She's hearing words?"
Darling nodded. "She won't tell me what they're saying."
Before Trench could respond, his intercom buzzed. "Sir," the voice of his assistant crackled through. "Emily Carver is here. She says it's urgent."
Trench and Darling exchanged a glance before Trench pressed the button. "Send her in."
The door swung open, and Emily stepped inside. Her posture was stiff, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. But it was her eyes that caught Trench's attention—wide, unfocused, like she was looking at something beyond the room.
"I know what it means," she said, her voice flat.
Darling stood up straight. "What what means?"
Emily swallowed, her breath shallow. "The warning. 'You will see.'"
Trench's stomach twisted. "Tell us."
Emily blinked, her pupils dilating for a moment too long. When she spoke, it wasn't in her usual cadence. It was slow, deliberate—like she was repeating something she'd just heard.
"They're already here."