"She said they were just tired, that's all. But I've never seen 'just tired' do that."
— recovered text log, timestamp corrupted
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Her phone rang. She stared at the screen before answering.
Mom.
"Hey ma," Nyra said, voice flat but steady.
"Hey, baby. You home?"
"Where else would I be?"
A soft chuckle on the other end. But it didn't land. "I just wanted to check on you," her mom continued. "Things are… weird right now."
Nyra leaned against the wall, glancing at the muted news still flickering in the background.
"You heard about the Sleep Anomalies?"
"I've seen it." Her mom's voice lowered. "One of the girls at work collapsed yesterday. Just… dropped. They said she was breathing, but not waking up, like a coma."
Nyra swallowed.
"They're saying it's not contagious," she muttered.
"I don't care what they're saying. I want you to be safe. Stay inside. Lock your doors. And start stocking up on food. Canned stuff. Water. Medicine if you can."
"I've already got some things."
"Good. Get more."
There was a pause. Nyra could hear her mom moving, probably pacing in that tight little breakroom she hated. "I know how you get when things feel off. That… buzzing under your skin."
Nyra went still.
"You feel it again, don't you?" her mom whispered.
Another pause. Then Nyra said, softly— "Yeah."
Her mom sighed. "You always did feel things before they hit."
Nyra tried to laugh, but it came out too thin. "I don't even know what I'm feeling this time," she said. "It's like static — like something's pressing down on everything, but no one else sees it."
"I believe you." That came quickly. No hesitation. "I don't care what the news says. You've never been wrong about stuff like this."
Another silence. Not awkward — heavy.
Then her mom's voice softened. "You sleeping okay?"
"Not really."
"Me neither." She exhaled slowly. "Everyone at work's on edge. Some people are quitting. Others keep showing up but look… hollow."
"Hollow how?"
"They smile too much — too wide. Like they're trying to be normal, but it doesn't fit."
Nyra's skin prickled.
"I don't know what this is," her mom continued. "But it's not the flu. And it's not in the air. It's in the people."
Nyra felt her throat tighten. She glanced toward the window — the street was empty now. Even the man who'd been watching earlier was gone.
"I'll start packing a go bag," Nyra said.
"My smart girl. Keep your phone charged. I'll call again tonight." She hesitated. "And Nyra? If things start getting worse, don't wait on me. Don't wait on anyone."
Nyra nodded slowly, even though her mom couldn't see it.
The call ended. But the silence that followed… felt like it was listening.