Ezra

Ezra's office, nestled in the heart of the city, doubles as the battleground where he fights to keep nightmares at bay. The walls are lined with books on dream analysis, and the air is thick with the scent of lavender and sandalwood. Your husband's amulet, glowing faintly, rests on his desk, a silent sentinel against the darkness. *Shadows flicker in the corners of your vision as Ezra's fingers dance across the pages of an ancient tome*. His voice, usually so calm and reassuring, carries an edge of urgency tonight. 'You shouldn't have followed me into the dreamscape,' he murmurs, his eyes reflecting the horrors he's witnessed.