I had seen too many things to doubt his story. I’d faced alien gods and ancient horrors. I’d swam through another reality and been inside the blank gray hell of a mind torn to pieces by a demon. If Dad said he’d been given his life back and sent on a mission to help me head off the apocalypse, then I believed him.

The decision would have been an easy one if his life hadn’t hung in the balance. I was sick and tired of being manipulated by forces beyond my understanding. It was even more obnoxious to discover that they’d been manipulating my family long before I’d even been born. I’d dealt with the other threats on my own terms and I’d made things work out. Just because Dad was convinced he had to do it the way these mysterious Others wanted and throw his life away in the process didn’t mean that was our only option. Screw the Others, whatever they were. I’d do this my own way. Maybe I could handle this and not involve him?

The dream had been a clue. Someone had wanted me to find this place. The stories from the other Hunters about the pattern…Could it be this mysterious foe that Dad had been sent back to warn us about? If so, then me not fulfilling my duty would only make things worse. This was bigger than me, bigger than my father. I had to face this. I had to know.

That still didn’t make it easy.

“Damn it, Dad.” I went over and aimed my headlamp down the hole.

The ladder was narrow and rusty. In reality, I could only smell rubbery, recycled air, but I could’ve sworn that an odd scent came up the shaft, dust and age. Franks’ light was moving around at the base, about twenty feet down. I swore again and started down carefully, the ladder creaking and shedding red. At least if I slipped, I’d have the honor of taking Franks with me.

The walls were dirt, shored up with rotting wooden beams. There should have been cobwebs or bugs, roots, some sign of life, but the shaft seemed unusually sterile. The shaft opened up in the last bit, enough that I could squeeze in next to Franks. He didn’t even bother to greet me. The floor under my squishy booties was metal.

The air was heavy. I was having such a hard time breathing that I thought my respirator had malfunctioned. I forced myself to look down. Sure enough, just like the dream, there was a hatch.

But there were no scratches. There was no mark from my father’s mysterious antagonist. The metal was covered in dust, only recently disturbed by footprints, but undamaged. I began to breathe again. The dream had shown me this place, but it had also showed me the mark, glowing in the darkness.