That night, Becky waited.
She lay in bed, eyes open, afraid to fall asleep
—not because of what she might see, but because of what she might not.
And for the first time in weeks...
Nothing came.
No garden.
No whispers.
No wine.
Just the sound of her own breath.
Morning sunlight touched her face gently, and she smiled.
The others reported the same. No dreams. No fear. No strange feelings.
And the campus felt different. As though something dark had been lifted. Even the sky looked a little clearer.
It was over.
But Becky knew she had a responsibility now.
Because if it ever returned
—not to her, but to someone else—they would need to know what she and her friends had done.
She began writing her own journal. Not like the others. Not lost to the dream.
A guide.
A warning.
And a promise.