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The night two years ago when Brody's father disappeared felt like an eternity. The clock had ticked by slower than ever before, each second feeling like a solid wall between himself and his father. It was the last time he ever saw him. He remembered the look in his eyes as he said goodbye, not knowing it would forever be their final parting words. Two years of waiting for some sign of life passed in vain until they eventually gave up hope that he might ever return home. Brody had been left with only a broken family and the pain of never knowing what had happened to his beloved dad.
One night two years later, Brody lay in bed, his heart racing as his mind spiraled out of control. Sleep was a distant memory, replaced by endless hours of torturous contemplation. His fingers twitched with nervous energy, desperate to reach out and grasp the phantom thoughts that danced around him. As a thirteen-year-old boy, his imagination was both a blessing and a curse - a double-edged sword that could either transport him to wondrous worlds or leave him lost in the abyss of his own mind. Something was gnawing at him, tearing away the fabric of his sanity until he was nothing but a hollow shell. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew it was there - lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to strike.
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