The world around Gabriella was drowned in darkness, suffocating and oppressive.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

Her body felt frozen, as if time itself had stopped.

Her hands were bound, unable to reach out for anything to ground her in the chaos.

The floor beneath her was slick, cold, and covered in what she couldn’t bear to look at—dead bodies.

So many bodies.

The stench of blood and death choked her, crawling into her throat as her heart raced uncontrollably. 

Her body trembled, but her eyes remained fixed on the sword plunged deep into her chest.

The cold steel twisted, the agony surging with every beat of her heart, as if the blade itself was feeding on her pain. 

Gabriella couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. Her breath hitched as her vision blurred and her body ached, every cell screaming in agony. This is it, she thought. This is how I die  

The air around her shifted, and with a hollow, echoing voice that seemed to come from everywhere, a whisper reached her ears. You were never meant to escape.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she tried desperately to break free from the nightmare. The sword felt heavier. The darkness pressed closer, drowning her in a sea of bodies, of memories. She was alone. Completely and utterly alone. 

And then— 

"Gabriella"

The voice wasn’t from the dream. It was real. 

With a sharp gasp, Gabriella’s eyes flew open. Her heart pounded in her chest, her body drenched in sweat, her breathing coming in ragged gasps. She was back in the safety of the room she shared with Erica, the darkened shadows of night still enveloping the room. But the remnants of the nightmare clung to her, relentless and suffocating. 

“Hey, hey... it’s okay,” Erica’s soothing voice cut through the panic that gripped Gabriella. She felt the warm pressure of Erica’s hand on her shoulder, grounding her. Gabriella’s hands shook as she fumbled to push herself up, but the dizziness and the weight of the nightmare kept pulling her back down. 

Erica was at her side in an instant, pulling Gabriella into her arms, her voice a soft, steady rhythm as she whispered reassurances. “It’s just a dream. You’re here with me. You’re safe.” 

Gabriella clung to Erica, her breath still shallow, her chest tightening with the remnants of the terror that had gripped her. She could still hear the whispers of the nightmare echoing in her mind, could still feel the blade in her chest. 

[...]

The next morning, the sunlight filtering through the curtains was a stark contrast to the darkness of Gabriella’s nightmare. The air felt different, heavier somehow, as if the events of the night before lingered like an unspoken truth. Gabriella sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the covers as Erica entered the room, her eyes scanning Gabriella with a mix of concern and caution.

“Hey,” Erica said softly, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. “How are you feeling?”

Gabriella didn’t immediately answer. She was still a little shaken, but she didn’t want to admit it. Her heart had slowed since the nightmare, but there was a weight on her chest, one she couldn’t quite shake off. She finally looked up at Erica and gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“I’m fine,” Gabriella said, her voice steady but lacking the usual fire. She didn’t want to burden Erica with what had happened last night, didn’t want to make it seem worse than it was.

Erica’s brow furrowed slightly as she studied Gabriella, sensing the underlying tension that still clung to her. She stepped further into the room, her eyes never leaving Gabriella. 

“You’re sure?” Erica asked gently, but there was an edge to her voice, a quiet worry she couldn’t hide. “Because you’re not acting like it. Last night… it didn’t seem like you were okay, Gab.” 

Gabriella sighed and stood up, brushing a hand through her hair. She wasn’t sure how to explain it—how to put the remnants of the nightmare into words. Or how to even tell Erica that she was afraid the worst was still to come. But she didn’t want to show weakness. Not now, not when everything felt so fragile.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, but this time the words were more forceful, as if saying them over and over would make it true. “I just… I’m just tired, Erica. It’s nothing.” 

Erica didn’t seem convinced, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she moved closer. She could see the tightness in Gabriella’s shoulders, the subtle way she seemed to pull away from her. She knew Gabriella was hiding something. They had always been honest with each other, and it hurt Erica to see her shutting down.

“If you’re sure,” Erica said quietly, her voice soft but not entirely convinced. “But if you need to talk, you know I’m here, right?” 

Gabriella hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering away, as if the thought of speaking the truth would make it real—make everything she was feeling come crashing down. Finally, she met Erica’s gaze, her expression softening just a little.

“I know,” Gabriella replied. “I just… I don’t want to make it worse. I don’t want to drag you into my mess.” 

Erica stepped forward, her hand resting gently on Gabriella’s arm. “You’re not dragging me into anything, Gab. You’re not alone in this. Whatever it is, we’re in it together, okay?”

Gabriella swallowed hard, the words weighing on her more than she expected. She nodded, though she didn’t feel entirely convinced. 

“I just need some time,” she said, a quiet vulnerability slipping through. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”

Erica studied her for a long moment, still unsure if Gabriella was being completely honest, but she gave a small nod. “Alright. But don’t shut me out, okay? I’m here. We’re here.” 

Gabriella forced a smile, though it felt strained. “Thanks, Erica. I’m really lucky to have you.” 

Erica smiled back, though the concern in her eyes didn’t quite fade. “I’m lucky to have you, too.”

With that, Erica turned to leave, but Gabriella’s voice stopped her just as she reached the door. 

“If it gets bad again, Erica… I promise I’ll talk to you.” 

Erica paused, her hand on the door handle. She turned slightly, giving Gabriella a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll be here. Whenever you’re ready.”

Gabriella watched Erica leave the room, and for a moment, she let the weight of her words sink in. She didn’t know if she was ready to share everything—if she ever would be. But knowing Erica would be there, no matter what, was enough to make her feel like she wasn’t entirely alone.

[...]

Erica and Gabriella strolled up to the entrance of the school, their steps in sync as they exchanged small talk. The morning air was crisp, but the atmosphere felt off—an undercurrent of tension that neither could shake. Gabriella glanced at Erica, her senses heightened, but before she could say anything, the sight at the top of the stairs stopped them in their tracks.

Scott was descending the staircase, his movements frantic but eerily silent. His head darted back and forth as if trying to avoid something unseen, his shadow flickering unnaturally in the sunlight. His breathing was ragged, his eyes wide with panic. He moved like a hunted animal, desperate to escape whatever was haunting him.

“What the hell…” Erica muttered, her voice trailing off as she watched Scott stumble forward. 

Gabriella didn’t hesitate. She lunged forward, grabbing Scott by the shoulders. “Scott! Hey, snap out of it!” she said firmly, shaking him slightly.

Scott froze at her touch, his wide eyes meeting hers. For a moment, he looked as if he didn’t recognize her, but then the panic began to fade, his breathing evening out. He blinked, his focus slowly returning.

“Gabriella?” he murmured, his voice shaky. “I… I thought it was—it was right there…”

“What was right there?” Gabriella asked, concern lacing her tone. 

Before Scott could answer, Stiles appeared, jogging up to them, his expression a mix of worry and relief. He took one look at Scott and then at Gabriella and Erica, and sighed heavily.

“Let me guess,” Stiles said, crossing his arms. “You’re seeing things too, aren’t you?”

Scott frowned, looking between Gabriella and Stiles. “how'd you know?” 

Lydia and Allison come up from behind them

"Because it's happening to all four of you"

[...]

Lydia pushed open the school doors with a flourish, stepping through as if she owned the place. Behind her, Scott, Allison, Gabriella, Erica, and Stiles trailed like a group of reluctant followers. 

“Well, well, look who’s no longer the crazy one,” Lydia said with a smirk, clearly enjoying herself far too much. 

Allison rolled her eyes and shook her head. “We are not crazy, Lydia.” 

Lydia spun on her heel to face them, her hands on her hips. “Hallucinating, sleep paralysis—yeah, you guys are totally fine,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. 

Scott raised a hand defensively. “Well, we *did* die and come back to life. There’s got to be some side effects, right?” 

“Right… exactly what Deaton told you would happen,” Erica added, arms crossed, glancing at Gabriella as if to silently say *told you so.* 

The school bell rang, cutting through the tension and signaling the start of class. The group exchanged glances, their shared unease palpable. 

“Okay, we keep an eye on each other,” Stiles said firmly, already stepping toward the hallway. 

“And Lydia,” Gabriella called over her shoulder as she followed Stiles, the two of them heading to their shared class, “stop enjoying it so much.” 

Lydia grinned and shrugged. “No promises.” 

As the group dispersed, Gabriella caught up with Stiles, falling into step beside him. “You think it’s going to get worse?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Stiles glanced at her, his jaw tightening. “If it’s already this bad? Yeah, probably. But hey, at least we’ve got the crazy one on our side now.” 

Gabriella let out a short laugh despite herself. “Lucky us.”

[...]

The classroom was buzzing with the low hum of students whispering and shuffling papers, but Stiles was in his own world. He sat hunched over his desk, furiously scribbling in his notebook, entirely unaware of Coach Finstock’s voice cutting through the noise. 

“Stilinski, are you paying attention?” Coach asked, his tone impatient but familiar. 

Stiles didn’t respond, his pencil moving rapidly across the page, his focus entirely elsewhere. 

“Stilinski!” Coach called again, his voice rising. 

When there was still no response, Coach sighed dramatically and blew his whistle, the sharp sound startling the entire class. Gabriella, sitting next to Stiles, glanced at him in alarm. She reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Stiles?” she whispered. 

He jumped at her touch, his eyes snapping back to reality. His head whipped toward Coach, still looking dazed. 

“Stilinski, I asked you a question,” Coach said, crossing his arms and glaring at him. 

Stiles blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the fog in his head. “Uh, sorry, Coach. What was it?” 

“Oh, I said, are you paying attention back there?” Coach repeated, his voice dripping with exasperation. 

“Well—uh—I am now,” Stiles said, forcing a sheepish grin. 

Coach narrowed his eyes and pointed his whistle at Stiles. “Stilinski, stop reminding me why I drink every night.” With that, he turned back to the board and resumed his lesson. 

Gabriella didn’t laugh like the rest of the class. Instead, she glanced at Stiles, concern etched across her face. 

Stiles noticed her expression and tried to brush it off. “I’m fine. I just fell asleep,” he muttered under his breath, barely meeting her eyes. 

Gabriella frowned and leaned closer, her voice low. “Stiles, you weren’t asleep.” She nodded toward his notebook, which lay open between them. 

Stiles followed her gaze, and his face paled. Scrawled across the page, in different sizes and patterns, were the words:  wake up. Wake Up. WAKE UP.

[...]

The group sat around their usual lunch table, their trays of food mostly untouched. The mood was heavy, a stark contrast to the lively chatter echoing around them. 

Scott leaned forward, his voice quiet but tense. "Okay, so—what happens to a person who has a near-death experience and comes out of it seeing things?" 

Stiles raised his hand slightly, as if to add to Scott's question. "And is unable to tell what's real or not?" 

Allison nodded grimly. "And is being haunted by demonic visions of dead relatives?" 

Gabriella, her arms crossed, added flatly, "And is seeing themselves with a sword through their heart." 

The group fell silent, all eyes turning to Lydia, Erica, and Isaac for some kind of answer. 

Isaac shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "They're all locked up because they're insane." 

Gabriella rolled her eyes and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Isaac, be helpful, or I’m kicking you out of my house." 

Erica smirked, nudging Isaac with her elbow. "She’s serious, you know. You’ve been warned." 

Isaac held up his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. But seriously, what do you guys expect? This stuff isn’t exactly normal." 

Lydia tapped her perfectly manicured nails against the table, her tone matter-of-fact. "Actually, it kind of is—for us, anyway. You’ve all been through something traumatic. Your brains are probably trying to process it the only way they can." 

"Yeah, but hallucinations?" Stiles asked, his voice edged with frustration. "That’s more than just processing." 

"It could be the Nemeton," Erica suggested. "I mean, you all kind of died and came back. maybe it’s trying to tell you something. The Nemeton has power, right? Maybe it’s not just random visions." 

Gabriella frowned, the image of her nightmare flashing in her mind. "If that’s true, I don’t think I want to know what it’s telling me." 

The group turned toward the voice, finding Kira, the new girl, standing a little awkwardly by their table. Her expression was earnest, and she clutched a book in her hands. 

"Hi," Kira began, glancing at the group nervously. "Sorry... I couldn’t help overhearing what you guys were talking about." 

Erica leaned closer to Gabriella and whispered, "We really need to lower our voices in public." 

Kira cleared her throat, drawing their attention back to her. "I think I might actually know what you're talking about. There’s a Tibetan word for it—it’s called Bardo. It literally means ‘in-between state.’ The state between life and death." 

Lydia raised an eyebrow, her tone dripping with condescension. "And what do they call you?" 

Scott quickly interjected. "Kira. She’s in my history class." 

Gabriella, curious but skeptical, leaned forward. "So, are you talking Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism or Indian?" 

Kira shrugged. "Either, I guess... But all the stuff you guys were just saying? That happens in Bardo. There are different progressive states where you can have hallucinations. Some you see, some you just hear. And you can be visited by peaceful or wrathful deities." 

Isaac, leaning back in his chair, frowned. "Wrathful deities? And what are those?" 

"Like... demons," Kira replied, her tone cautious, as though she wasn’t sure how they’d react. 

Stiles sighed heavily, running a hand down his face. "Demons. Why not? Let’s just throw those on the pile." 

Allison raised a hand, stopping the conversation. "Hold on—if there are different progressive states, then what’s the last one?" 

Kira hesitated, her gaze shifting nervously before she answered. "Death. You die." 

The group fell silent, the weight of her words settling over them like a storm cloud. 

Gabriella exchanged a glance with Erica, her jaw tightening. "Great. So, we’re officially walking the tightrope between life and death. No pressure." 

[...]

Scott, Gabriella, and Stiles stood in the dimly lit animal clinic, their expressions a mix of frustration and confusion as Deaton patiently listened to their recount of strange hallucinations and subconscious messages. 

Deaton tilted his head thoughtfully. “It sounds like your subconscious is trying to communicate with you.” 

Stiles groaned, throwing up his hands. “Well, how do I tell my subconscious to use a language I actually know?” 

Deaton offered a faint smile. “Do you remember what the sign language looked like? The placement and movement of the hands?” 

Scott raised an eyebrow. “You know sign language?” 

“I know a little,” Deaton replied. “Let me give it a shot.” 

Stiles nodded and positioned his hands. “Okay, the first one was like this…” He demonstrated by circling the tip of his right index finger clockwise around his left index finger, ending with both fingertips touching. 

Deaton observed carefully. “That’s *when.*” 

“Then there was this, twice…” Stiles continued, holding both hands flat, fingers together, then folding one hand out as though mimicking a door opening. 

“That’s door,” Deaton said. 

Stiles hesitated, then showed the next motion: moving his thumb from his hand to his chin and back to his hand. 

Deaton’s face lit up with understanding. “That’s ajar. The message is, ‘When is a door not a door?’” 

Stiles blinked, dumbfounded. “When is a door not a door???” 

Gabriella, standing next to him, sighed and rubbed her temple. “When it’s ajar.” 

Stiles stared at her, unimpressed. “You’re kidding me. A riddle? My subconscious wants to tell me a *riddle*?” 

Deaton raised a hand, his tone calm but firm. “Not necessarily. When the four of you went under the water—when you crossed from consciousness to a kind of superconsciousness—you essentially opened a door in your minds.” 

Scott frowned, glancing between them. “So, what does that mean? The door’s still open?” 

Deaton nodded. “Ajar.” 

Gabriella’s brows furrowed. “A door into our minds?” 

“I did tell you it was risky…” Deaton said, his expression serious. 

Scott took a step closer, his voice tense. “What do we do about it?” 

Deaton hesitated, and Stiles pointed at him accusingly. “Oh, no! Wait a second, I know that look—that’s the ‘we know exactly what’s wrong with you, but we have no idea how to fix it’ look!” 

Deaton sighed, his calm demeanor unshaken. “One thing I do know is that having an opening like that into your mind is not good. You each need to close that door, and you need to do it as soon as possible.” 

He turned to Gabriella, his gaze sharper. “Especially you. That door might lead directly to your past life—and what you find there could lead to your death.” 

The room fell silent, the weight of Deaton’s words pressing heavily on them. Gabriella exchanged a worried glance with Scott and Stiles, her resolve hardening. 

“So, no pressure,” she muttered, her