Ren stood in the middle of what appeared to be a cruise ship. The structure stretched around him in complete stillness, vast and empty, its edges blurred by a thick fog that clung to everything—not surrounding him so much as woven into the space itself. He tried to work out where he was, but the thought dissolved before it could form, leaving behind a quiet disorientation he didn't have time to examine.

Every direction looked the same. The fog shifted slowly, offering just enough visibility to see through. Beyond it, the ocean stretched without end, its surface flat and unbroken, fading into a horizon that didn't feel real. No movement, no sound, nothing beyond what he could see.

He lifted his hand to push the fog aside, but the motion never completed. His arm stopped halfway—not blocked, not resisted, just unfinished. He tried again, more deliberately, but his body responded unevenly, slightly out of sync with his intentions. It didn't frighten him, but it made the situation harder to dismiss.

He let his hand fall and tried to take a breath. The motion was there, but nothing came with it—no resistance, no relief. He tried again, slower, and got the same result. He wasn't suffocating. It was more that breathing simply didn't apply here.

Then a voice broke through the stillness. It didn't echo or travel. It was just there, clear and fragile.

"Help me, Jack… please…"

Ren's attention snapped toward it.

"Jack…?"

The name felt wrong. But the voice—

"Please… don't leave me…"

Something tightened in his chest. He didn't understand it, but it was enough to move him.

He started running.

His footsteps cut across the empty deck, the sound sharp against the quiet. At first, nothing around him changed—the ocean stayed still, the ship remained the same. But the longer he ran, the more the space began to shift. The light faded gradually, as if being slowly withdrawn, and the edges of things softened until their shapes became uncertain. Colors dulled. The air grew heavier, pressing against each step without fully stopping him.

"Jack…!" the voice called again, closer now.

The sky darkened. The ocean lost its sheen. The ship stretched into something unfamiliar, its proportions no longer quite right. The distance ahead refused to close—no matter how fast he moved, she remained just out of reach.

"Wait—!" he called, though his voice didn't carry the way it should have.

When her voice came again, it arrived without warning, close enough that the distance between them stopped making sense.

"Why didn't you save me…?"

Ren stopped.

"I— I didn't—" The words broke apart. He pushed through them. "I was just— I didn't understand—"

"You could have."

Quiet. Certain. It landed harder than anything else.

"I can now," he said, stepping forward again. "I can fix it—just—please—"

"Let me save you."

She didn't respond.

She was already fading.

The darkness behind her deepened, pulling her away without urgency. It didn't rush. It simply took her, steadily, without asking permission.

"Wait—!" He reached forward, but the space stretched again, widening no matter how far he extended his arm. "No—please don't go—"

His voice cracked on the last word.

There was no answer, only the quiet continuation of her disappearance.

"Rose!"

The name tore out of him, raw and too loud for a space that swallowed everything. It faded almost instantly. The ocean went first, then the ship, and finally the voice itself, leaving nothing behind to mark that any of it had been there.

What replaced it wasn't silence. It was something heavier—something that didn't exist between things but instead of them.

In that emptiness, the understanding arrived without ceremony.

He was too late.

Ren woke with a sharp breath, his body reacting before his mind caught up. Air rushed into his lungs all at once, overwhelming after its absence. Sweat clung to his skin. Sunlight poured through the window and hit his face directly.

He turned slightly, squinting against it as the room reassembled itself around him—the bed, the quiet, the stillness of an ordinary morning.

"…shit," he muttered.

He ran a hand through his hair and held it there for a moment. The dream didn't stay clearly; only the feeling remained, sitting somewhere behind his sternum without a name.

He exhaled slowly, this time feeling the air move the way it was supposed to.

"…right."

His gaze shifted to Lyra, still asleep, and he paused without meaning to. There was something different about her like this—not a change exactly, but an absence. The composure she carried while awake was gone, replaced by something quieter and unguarded. Her breathing was slow and even, a few strands of hair resting loosely across her cheek.

He watched her longer than he intended.

It wasn't sudden, and it wasn't overwhelming. It settled in the way that certain things do—small, unhurried, not asking for attention but holding it regardless. And when the realization came, it arrived with a kind of quiet finality that made looking away feel impossible.

"Oh no…" he murmured, the words out before he could stop them. A beat passed. "…shit."