"The. Dreamer's Mark."

A disheveled young woman with sunken cheeks and tangled hair sat on a crumbling sidewalk near the edge of the city. She hugged a battered book to her chest, its cover worn and faded, remnants of a time when stories could transport her away from her grim reality. This book, a cherished relic, had cost her the last of her meager savings. Today, she sought a small escape.

"Just a few pages," she whispered to herself, eyes scanning the pages with a mix of hope and desperation.

As she turned to a chapter she had read countless times, the words blurred together. Fatigue washed over her like a heavy fog, but she fought it, determined to savor every line.

"Why is it always so damn hard?" she muttered, grimacing as she rubbed her tired eyes.

With a sigh, she closed the book, the warmth of the sun failing to penetrate the chill that clung to her bones. She tossed it onto the pavement, letting it rest beside her. "Guess that's what hunger does to you," she chuckled bitterly.

People brushed past, their hurried footsteps echoing the indifference of the world. Clad in fine clothes, they cast fleeting glances at her, their expressions a mix of disdain and curiosity. She could feel the weight of their gazes, a reminder of her stark difference from their lives.

Just then, a voice snapped her from her reverie. "Hey! You can't just litter," a gruff man barked, pointing at the book.

She rolled her eyes but picked it up, tucking it under her arm. "It's mine, not garbage."

His frown deepened, and she caught a glimpse of the patch on his uniform: a city guard. They were tasked with maintaining order, but it seemed they only cared about appearances.

"Whatever," he muttered, turning away as he walked off to confront someone else.

A faint grin tugged at her lips. The guard was right about one thing: she was out of place here. But she had learned to endure, to blend into the shadows of the sprawling city.

With a determined breath, she stood up, shaking off the lingering weariness. Today marked one week since the Echo had first whispered to her, that ominous feeling creeping into her dreams.

The Echo was a rumor, a curse that had spread across the city like wildfire. It promised fleeting moments of clarity and power, but at a cost. Those chosen by the Echo found themselves lost in a dreamscape, haunted by memories of their past—terrifying and alluring all at once.

"Just what I need," she muttered, glancing toward the towering buildings. "Another burden."

She turned to leave, heading toward the flickering neon lights that signaled a makeshift market where the desperate gathered to barter for scraps. As she walked, a shiver ran down her spine, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching her.

"Focus," she whispered, trying to shake off the unease.

The market was bustling, filled with voices and the pungent aroma of street food. Here, the air was thick with desperation and survival, a stark contrast to the polished lives just beyond the alley.

She maneuvered through the crowd, scanning faces and searching for someone she could trust. The memories of her past flickered in her mind—friends lost to the Echo, swallowed by their own dreams.

Suddenly, a firm grip on her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to find a familiar face, lined and weary but kind.

"Lira," the man said, his voice low. "You shouldn't be out here alone."

"Jarek," she replied, forcing a smile. "I can handle it."

He shook his head, eyes glancing around as if searching for unseen threats. "It's not safe. They're looking for carriers."

Her heart sank. "I'm not infected," she insisted, though uncertainty gnawed at her.

"Not yet, maybe. But you need to be careful. The Echo chooses indiscriminately."

Before she could respond, the ground trembled slightly, a reminder of the city's crumbling infrastructure. Jarek's grip tightened on her shoulder. "We need to talk. Now."

She nodded, anxiety curling in her stomach as they slipped away from the market, moving toward a dim alley. The shadows cloaked them, but the air felt heavy with impending danger.

"Listen," he said, his voice urgent. "You need to understand what the Echo really is. It's not just a dream. It's a gateway to something darker."

Lira's breath quickened. "I don't want to hear about it. I just want to live."

"Then you need to fight it," he urged, his gaze piercing through the gloom. "Before it takes you too."

As they spoke, the distant sound of sirens filled the air, a grim reminder of the chaos that lurked just outside their fragile sanctuary. Lira could feel the weight of her decision pressing down on her. Would she succumb to the Echo, or would she find the strength to resist?

In that moment, the shadows felt alive, whispering secrets and promises. And somewhere deep within her, a flicker of determination ignited—a desire not just to survive, but to reclaim her story before it was lost to the darkness.