PROLOGUE

A thick June fog cloaked Old Orndorf Road, swallowing the beams from the SUV headlights and reducing visibility to mere feet ahead. Amber Stevens squinted into the murk, clutching the steering wheel tighter as she drove slowly forward. Tonight, her familiarity with this uneven road offered slight comfort against the disorienting mist. This was a path scarcely traveled by others, and she usually found the solitude welcome. Even on a night like this, Amber had a sense of safety, guided by instinct and the intimate knowledge of every inch of the forgotten road that led her home.

As her SUV jostled over the pitted track, Amber’s thoughts drifted back to Paws and Harmony Rescue, where the evening’s work had left her with a wonderful warmth in her chest. There was a particular moment, an instance that reinforced her passion for veterinary care: successfully coaxing a frightened, newly arrived stray dog to eat from her hand for the first time. With gentle whispers and patience, she had bridged the gap of trust between human and animal, a small victory that promised the beginning of a new life for the terrified creature.

That sense of triumph helped fuel Amber’s resolve as she drove through this oppressive fog, a physical presence pressing against the windows as though demanding entry. After all, Orndorf Road, with its bumps and turns, was an old friend whispering secrets from her childhood, back when it served as her shortcut to school. Each dip and rise was etched into her muscle memory, allowing her to proceed despite the obscuring haze.

Her mind wandered ahead to the temporary refuge at her parents’ home. Summer break at college meant returning to a place where expectations hovered like the mist outside—thick and unyielding. The thought of her engagement ring, a modest but meaningful band tucked away in her suitcase, weighed heavily upon her. It was a symbol of a choice made and a new life promised, yet it remained hidden from those who should be happy to know the truth. She chided herself for withholding the news of her engagement from her parents. Tomorrow, she decided firmly, she would reveal everything to them. It was unfair to keep such joyous news under wraps, despite the complications it might stir up.

Her father, Otto, with hands that spoke of years beneath the hoods of countless cars, had always been vocal about his hopes for her future. He envisioned Amber settled down with the dependable mechanic from his shop, Jason Reeves. It was a comfortable picture, one woven into the very fabric of their small town. But comfort could suffocate, and their actual relationship had been more vague in Amber’s own mind.

Now she knew her heart lay elsewhere, with a different young man—her fiancée was a fellow student at Ozark State University in Pinecrest.

She wondered if Jason was going to be a serious problem.

Earlier that day, she had finally mustered the courage to clear the air between them. In her mind, the conversation replayed itself, sharp and jarring against the hum of her tires over gravel. Jason’s eyes, usually so familiar, had turned cold and distant, his words laced with an edge that cut deeper than their parting. “You think you’re better off without me?” he had asked, voice low and menacing in a way she’d never heard before.

She had tried to placate him, to explain that what she felt for Liam was different, something she couldn’t ignore. But Jason’s reaction was volcanic, a mixture of anger and jealousy. His veiled threat, a cryptic warning uttered as she walked away, now echoed ominously in her head. She hadn’t understood it then, and even now, it eluded her grasp, lost in the swirling fog of her own doubts and fears. Amber tried to reassure herself that Jason wouldn’t hurt her; it wasn’t in his nature.

But what about Liam? Jason had said some rash and disturbing things about going to Pinecrest and finding Liam and “having it out with him.” Surely, she decided, that was just Jason’s anger talking. He would never go to that kind of extreme.

Amber’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an unexpected sight ahead.

Red hazard lights blinked rhythmically through the fog, an unusual beacon on the seldom-used road. Curiosity piqued, she eased her foot off the accelerator, her eyes narrowing as she approached the distressed vehicle. It was uncommon for others to travel this way, especially at night. Although she didn’t recognize the car, it must surely be someone who lived in the area to be out on this old road at all.

Amber’s mind shifted gears. Her father’s lessons in auto repair came to the forefront. Otto Stevens had made sure his daughter knew her way around a car as well as any mechanic. Those afternoons spent in the garage, tools in hand, weren’t just a means to earn her keep through high school; they instilled a confidence that now prompted her to slow down and prepare to offer assistance.

Amber parked her SUV behind the stranded car, the red hazard lights cutting through the fog like a warning. She retrieved her flashlight from the door compartment and stepped out into the night, the mist enveloping her as if to swallow her whole. With the beam of light piercing ahead, she called out, “Hello? Anyone there? Need help?” Her voice sounded muffled in the dense air, absorbed by the fog that seemed to silence everything.

The only response was the intermittent click of the hazard lights. The passenger door of the mysterious vehicle hung open. It felt strange and unnerving, the familiarity of the road now twisted into an unrecognizable path.

Amber approached cautiously, shining her flashlight into the dark interior while continuing to call out. “Hey, don’t worry, I can help you!” Despite her expertise with auto troubles, the lack of response unsettled her. She wondered if someone had fallen ill out here.

As Amber peered inside the abandoned car, she noticed the keys still dangled from the ignition. No signs of a struggle or any belongings left behind—just an eerie emptiness. She turned her head, about to call out again, when the stark silence was shattered by the sound of footsteps crunched on the gravel behind her. A strong hand clamped onto her shoulder, its grip iron-tight, yanking her back.

Amber realized the danger she was in. This was no stranded motorist, this was an ambush. Panic surged, but her instinct took charge as she wrenched away, the flashlight tumbling from her grasp and rolling under the car. Shoving hard at her attacker, she turned and sprinted away down Old Orndorf Road.

“Help! Somebody, please!” she shouted, but her voice was devoured by the thick fog, leaving her feeling isolated and vulnerable. The road she had known so well now seemed alien, each step uncertain. And she could hear footsteps behind her.

She chastised herself for stopping to help at the abandoned car, berating her own naivety. But how could she have anticipated it was a trap? The road was seldom used, her presence there a fluke borne from habit rather than predictability. She couldn’t imagine that anyone would lie in wait for anybody here. Yet here she was, fleeing an unseen predator.

As she ran, her mind scrambled to pinpoint where she was, where help might come from before she was caught. In her mind, she saw the roads branching from Old Orndorf Road, the map etched into her memory since childhood. Yet none of those paths mattered now, for no one knew this was her route. No one would come looking for her here.

In a split second, her foot caught on an unseen obstacle, and pain lanced through her ankle. She stumbled, catching herself before falling completely, but the damage was done. A sharp twinge confirmed a sprain, the ache immediate and debilitating. Amber knew she couldn’t outrun her pursuer on this open road. Escape seemed impossible.

“Got to keep moving,” she urged herself.

Beside the road was a patch of woods that she’d driven by many times. Amber’s breaths came in harsh, ragged gasps as she veered off the gravel road, plunging into the dense underbrush beneath those trees. Each step was a blind gamble in the pitch black night, her only guide the uneven ground beneath her feet. Branches snagged at her clothes, scratching her arms and face, but she pushed forward, driven by a primal urge to survive despite the mounting pain in her ankle.

After a few moments, she stopped. Was her pursuer following?

When she heard the slight sound of someone else leaving the road and plunging into the brush after her, Amber turned to flee again. Her hands stretched out before her, grappling with the air as if trying to pull herself through the tangible fear that enveloped her. She stumbled over roots and rocks, each misstep sending jolts of pain up her already injured ankle. She willed her body to keep moving.

Suddenly, a light cut through the trees behind her, sweeping erratically across the forest floor. Amber froze, her heart pounding against her ribs. She threw herself to the side, diving behind a thick trunk just as the beam swept past her previous position. Her attacker was searching, the flashlight a roaming eye that sought to reveal her hiding place.

Amber waited, her breath caught in her throat, until the light moved on. Then, with great effort, she rose and hobbled forward, ducking low-hanging branches and weaving through the natural maze. The sharp sting in her ankle grew with each step, a relentless reminder of her vulnerability.

She risked a glance over her shoulder, the flashlight now a distant glimmer flickering between the trees. It wasn’t fixed on her—yet. Whoever was holding it didn’t know where she was. But her pursuer was methodical, and it was only a matter of time before their paths crossed again. With grim determination, Amber pressed onward, the pain in her ankle a burning fire that fueled her will to evade capture.

Leaves crunched under Amber’s faltering steps, the whisper of her movement a desperate plea through the dense undergrowth. She could feel the pulse of her heart in her injured ankle, each thud resonating with the knowledge that time was running out. The cold fingers of fear gripped her spine as she realized that once she was caught in the flashlight’s beam, it would be over.

The fog clung to her skin, and her breaths came out in ragged gasps. Amber wished for the impossible—to dissolve into the mist, become part of the night’s fabric, unseen and untouched. But wishes were frivolous things when faced with a very real hunter. Her mind raced, frantically calculating odds and avenues of escape, but her options were narrowing with each limping step.

She tried to focus on the crunch of her own footsteps, to not think about who else might hear them. A bitter laugh bubbled up from her throat, edged with hysteria. That road had always been her secret shortcut, her private detour. She’d never imagined it would lead to this harrowing chase.

Amber pressed on, driven by the raw instinct to survive. The woods around her seemed to close in, branches reaching toward her, as if to betray her location. The possibility of what lay ahead if she stopped was unthinkable. She could not afford the luxury of surrender. Not now. Not ever.

Behind her, the light continued its relentless sweep, a beacon of doom that promised nothing but peril. Amber knew her attacker was close, too close. The air felt charged, the silence between the rustling leaves filled with the weight of imminent discovery. Her thoughts scrambled for a plan, any plan, to evade the inevitable. But the forest offered no answers, only the echo of her own labored breathing.

CHAPTER ONE

Jenna Graves stood in the living room of her childhood home, a place once brimming with laughter and whispers, now disturbingly quiet. She couldn’t remember why she had come here after so many months of absence.

And why did everything around her keep changing?

The wallpaper, which had always been peeling at the corners, shifted patterns—floral print to paisley, then stripes. She blinked, seeking logic in the disorienting metamorphosis. The couch, an heirloom passed down through generations, was reupholstering itself over and over, cycling through fabrics—velvet, corduroy, leather—in rapid succession.

As she looked around, she saw that family photos on the mantelpiece were altering too; images blurred and refocused, showing faces she didn’t recognize, then familiar ones, eternally smiling.

When Jenna heard footsteps out on the porch, the sound was both foreign and familiar, and with it came a bit of recollection. She was here to see her mother, Margaret Graves, whom time and silence had distanced from her. The lump of dread lodged in Jenna’s throat felt real enough to choke her. Conversations long overdue seemed to drift through the air like specters. But as the front door swung open, the figure that materialized was not Mom.

Jenna’s father stood before her, preserved in the prime of his life, back when Jenna had been a teenager, unmarred by illness or age. Heart leaping, Jenna opened her mouth to voice the impossibility, the denial that he could not be standing there—that he had died five years ago. But the words dissolved on her tongue, replaced by the realization that this was a dream—one of the lucid kind, when she became aware that she was dreaming.

Her father’s features were marked with a concern that seemed out of place on this younger face she remembered. His green eyes, mirrors of her own, held an urgency that belied the calm of their familiar surroundings.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Jenna asked, aware of the dream’s capricious nature, but needing to anchor herself in the normalcy of dialogue.

“Jenna,” he said sternly, “you’ve got to get tough. No more pussyfooting around. You understand?”

She frowned, a flicker of frustration crossing her mind. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Before he could explain, a train horn cut through the fabric of the dream. It was a blare that didn’t belong, distant but intrusive. Her father glanced toward the unseen source of the sound, his expression tightening.

“Can’t talk now, Jenna,” he said, a note of finality in his voice. “Somebody else needs you.”

The horn blew again, louder, as if echoing across a vast chasm. Suddenly, the interior of Jenna’s childhood home dissolved, giving way to a fog-drenched night. Moonlight struggled against the mist, casting silvery tendrils that reached down to where she now stood under a large oak tree. Its branches stretched towards the sky, skeletal and bare despite the actual season.

Next to the tree, a young woman waited. Her age was indeterminable; she could be a teenager or slightly older, her features frustratingly vague, shifting as though viewed through water. The woman’s expression was solemn, her stance conveying a silent plea.

“I need your help,” she said to Jenna, her voice clear in spite of the murkiness that surrounded them.

Jenna tried to discern any familiar trace within the blurred lines of the woman’s face, but she was only able to make out a few details. The woman’s hair cascaded in loose waves, a deep shade of midnight that absorbed the moonlight rather than reflecting it. Her face, though blurry, seemed delicate and angular. Standing at a moderate height, she possessed a slender build that seemed to blend seamlessly with the shadows around her.

But recognition eluded Jenna, just another layer of the dream’s bewildering message. The feeling that this encounter was pivotal pressed upon Jenna, a certainty that transcended the uncertain world of this dream.

“Help with what?” Jenna spoke into the night, her words almost lost in the dense fog that swirled around them.

The young woman seemed to wrestle with elusive words, her lips parting in frustration. “I don’t know how to say it,” she murmured, her voice drifting through the fog that enveloped them both. Jenna held her breath, waiting for clarity that never came. She knew the rules of these encounters; the dead were enigmatic messengers, their meanings cloaked in obscurity.

“Is there a message you’re trying to give me?” Jenna probed gently, her tone even, betraying none of the urgency that she was feeling. The woman’s eyes, though indistinct, appeared clouded with an emotion that hinted at desperation.

“You must solve the puzzle yourself,” she said, as if reciting an oft-repeated statement.

Jenna nodded, accepting the familiar challenge. It wasn’t the first time she’d stood as an intermediary between the living and the spectral voices of the deceased. Each dream was a riddle, urging Jenna to assemble the disjointed spectral communications into a story she could understand and act on when she was awake.

The conversation paused as the woman’s attention shifted to the gnarled oak tree. “I was supposed to meet him here,” she whispered, sorrow crossing the blurred visage. Her hand extended towards the tree, pointing to a discolored circle on its trunk where a robust limb had been cut off. Jenna stepped closer, her eyes tracing the rough edges of the scar. It spoke of past violence, a severance from life as it should have been.

“Who is ‘him’?” Jenna pressed, her curiosity sharpening. But no name came from the woman’s strained silence. Instead, she only gestured again to the wound on the tree.

Jenna’s breath caught as she watched the air itself carve into that wound, invisible fingers etching initials into the scarred wood with methodical precision. “MT + GN” appeared first, characters deeply grooved into the scar of the ancient oak.

Before Jenna could consider the meaning behind those initials, a harsh line scored through them, obliterating the union with a swift slash. Then fresh letters began to form: “JD + SP.” They were meticulous, every stroke deliberate, cut with fury by an unseen weapon guided by an unseen hand.

“Who are they?” Jenna asked the young woman, but she received no answer. Instead, another pair of initials was carved, and then another, each set eradicated as quickly as they had appeared. The randomness of the act confounded Jenna’s analytical mind, the logic that served her so well in waking life now scattered in this realm of dreams.

“He’s very angry. I didn’t know how angry,” the young woman murmured, her voice trembling.

The initials continued to change, a relentless dance of letters that twisted and turned, a macabre waltz of identities lost and discarded. Jenna felt a cold realization that somewhere beyond this dream lay a mystery she needed to solve. She knew this was a message, a puzzle meant for her and her alone, born from her psychic ties to the dead.

“Angry about what? Who is he?” Jenna pressed, though she expected no clear response. The young woman’s form flickered like a flame starved of oxygen, her features still frustratingly indistinct.

Jenna’s pulse quickened at the distant horn, a sound that seemed to echo from both the dream and some far-off memory. “We need to leave,” the woman said with urgency, pulling Jenna’s attention back to the present danger. Without questioning why, Jenna followed the spectral figure deeper into the forest, gripping a flashlight she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The fog hung heavy around them, swallowing the weak beam of light as they navigated through dense underbrush. The trees loomed large in the dimness, their shapes merging with the mist to create an otherworldly tableau. Emerging onto a gravel road, Jenna noticed how it stretched indefinitely in both directions, barren and forlorn. “This must be where it started,” the woman murmured, gazing down the path with an expression that Jenna could only interpret as one of regret or loss.

“Started? What are you talking about?” Jenna pressed, though she anticipated no straightforward answer. The woman glanced at her, eyes filled with an unfathomable depth of sorrow and confusion before the train’s whistle cut through the silence once more.

In an instant, the peaceful stillness shattered. A locomotive’s light pierced the fog, barreling towards them with alarming speed. Jenna’s instincts screamed at her to dive out of the way, to haul the woman to safety, but a paralyzing terror rooted her to the spot. Her emerald eyes, usually bright with determination, now reflected the stark white beam of the oncoming engine.

“Move!” Jenna’s mind willed her body to respond, but it was as if the dream had its own grip on her, dictating the rules of reality within its confines. She looked over at the woman, expecting panic, yet found only a detached curiosity there, as if she were merely an observer rather than a participant in the impending catastrophe.

“Come on!” Jenna managed to croak, reaching out to pull the woman with her. But her hand passed through the apparition’s arm, grasping nothing but the damp night air. The ground beneath her feet trembled with the approaching roar, a vibration that resonated with a deep-seated fear Jenna couldn’t quite place.

Was this the end? Would the train barrel through them, bringing an abrupt close to the dream? Or was something else at play, a deeper meaning to this relentless pursuit? Jenna’s analytical mind raced, dissecting the situation even as the headlights bore down on them.

Jenna stood frozen, waiting for the inevitable collision, or perhaps, the revelation that would come with it.

As the spectral locomotive’s light cut through the fog, an eerie tranquility settled over the woman beside Jenna. “Strange, nobody ever comes this way anymore,” she remarked, her voice steady in the noise of the oncoming train.

“Listen to me,” Jenna insisted, her sheriff’s instincts surging despite the dream’s surreal nature. “We need to move now!”

The woman turned to her with a serene smile, her form wavering like a candle flame in a gentle breeze. “Oh, no. This is not how I die. And it’s not how you die, either. It’s time for you to wake up.”

Before Jenna could respond, the woman’s presence waned, her image flickering like a candle threatened by a growing breeze. Jenna reached out instinctively to grasp what remained of the encounter, but her fingers closed around nothing but the damp, cool air of the dreamworld that abruptly dissolved into nothingness.

Jenna’s eyes snapped open to a familiar ceiling. Her breathing was heavy, her chest tight as she sat up in bed, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. She glanced at the simple digital clock on her nightstand—it read 6:00 AM, its numbers glowing softly in the dimness of dawn.

The chill from the dream still clung to her, seeping into the silence of her bungalow. Jenna swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet meeting the cold hardwood floor. As the fog of sleep cleared from her mind, sharp fragments of the dream lingered—cryptic messages, the carve marks on the tree, and the woman’s calm demeanor in the face of impending doom.

There was something unsettlingly familiar about the rhythm of that dream, a pattern that mirrored the cadence of her life since her sister Piper’s disappearance. Each dream, each encounter with the departed, had led Jenna to true stories, their meanings often obscured until the light of day cast clarity upon them.

She stood, moving mechanically to prepare for the day ahead, her movements betraying none of the turmoil within. But as she dressed, the conviction that had been forming in the back of her mind crystallized. The dream wasn’t just a random assembly of subconscious fears; it was a harbinger, a prelude to the troubles that lay ahead—perhaps even a premonition.

CHAPTER TWO

Jenna was perched on a vinyl seat at the Sunflower Café in Trentville. The aroma of freshly baked pastries and brewing coffee created a warm, inviting atmosphere that contrasted with the unease she was feeling. She checked her watch; time was inching toward her duty hours as Sheriff of Genesius County, Missouri, and the seat across from her was still empty.

With a sigh, Jenna put down her mug of black coffee, then pulled out her phone and dialed her deputy. “Morning, Jake. I’m gonna be a bit late today—meeting with Mom,” she said, keeping her tone even as she glanced towards the door again.

“Good to hear you’re patching things up,” came Jake Hawkins’s voice, his approval apparent even through the phone’s tinny speaker. “Take your time, Jenna. After what we’ve been through lately, a family breakfast is important. I’m on my way to headquarters right now. I’ll alert you to any emergencies. But unless someone decides to start stealing garden gnomes again, I think we’ll manage without you for an hour or more.”

Jenna couldn’t help but smirk. The possibility of gnome thefts was certainly more appealing than the grisly case she and Jake had recently solved.

“Thanks, Jake. I appreciate it,” she murmured, ending the call with a tap. She placed the phone back on the table and took a slow sip of her coffee. The Sunflower Café hummed with the soft chatter of patrons and the clinking of silverware against plates. In the quiet lull of the café, Jenna’s mind was soon drawn elsewhere, ensnared by the remnants of the dream that she couldn’t quite put into the right order.

“He’s very angry,” an unidentified woman with fear in her eyes had told her. The warning had been cryptic, giving no hint about who might be angry or be the target of such wrath. There had also been an oak tree where initials were carved, letters altered again and again by an unseen hand. And she’d heard a freight train’s horn, a sound out of place. It had barreled towards her, not on steel rails but tearing along an unpaved country road, relentless in its pursuit. The symbolism was lost on her, but the sense of imminent peril was unmistakable. Jenna knew that her subconscious was painting a picture, a message she was meant to understand but couldn’t yet grasp.

She took another sip of her coffee, feeling the warmth course through her. Yet it did little to thaw the chill that had settled in her bones. In her dreamscape, Jenna was not merely an observer; she was an active participant in a world just as vivid and complex as the waking one. These were no ordinary dreams; they were puzzles given to her by the departed. And Jenna could not—would not—ignore them.

She found one measure of solace in a specific absence from her lucid dreams: only the dead ever visited her there, and her missing sister had never appeared among them. That silence affirmed Jenna’s belief that somewhere, somehow, Piper was still alive.

The bell above the café entrance jingled, but it wasn’t Mom who entered. The empty chair across from Jenna served as a stark reminder of their strained relationship. Perhaps fear had gotten the better of Mom, or maybe she just couldn’t muster the resolve to face what lay between them after all these months. After Dad had died five years ago, Mom had withdrawn from her friends, from Jenna, usually insisting that she just wanted to be left alone.

Jenna also contemplated the likelihood that her mother’s drinking had erased this meeting from her memory entirely. It was a harsh truth, one that chiseled away at the hope for reconciliation each moment the seat remained vacant. A part of Jenna wrestled with guilt for feeling relief at that prospect.

Then, as if summoned by Jenna’s conflicting emotions, Mom pushed in through the door. The sight was jarring; the once-vibrant woman now looked fragile, her features gaunt and her eyes dim. The forced smile did little to mask the toll life had exacted. It was more than the natural progression of age—it was a rapid decline fueled by grief and alcohol.

“Hi, Mom,” Jenna greeted her, attempting to infuse warmth into her voice despite the shock. It was clear that her mother’s condition was a silent scream for help, one that Jenna could no longer fail to observe. She knew that Mom had never really recovered from the loss of Piper. Then, after Dad died from cancer five years ago, she had withdrawn and often refused to even see Jenna.

Mom settled into the seat on the opposite side of the table, her hands smoothing the edges of a paper napkin with a twitch of anxiety. “Have you ordered?” she inquired, her voice tinged with that familiar rasp of disuse.

“Was waiting for you,” Jenna replied, her tone neutral, eyes briefly meeting those of her mother before calling over a waitress with a subtle gesture. They placed their orders—eggs and toast for Mom, oatmeal for Jenna, along with coffee for both. Then silence descended between them, thick and opaque.

“What’s been going on at work? Anything... interesting?” Mom’s attempt at conversation felt like an ill-fitting glove, awkward and not quite comfortable.

Jenna hesitated, not out of indecision but disbelief. The recent case was big news all over the local media and beyond. She knew it must also be the subject of shocked conversations all around Trentville. How had her mother not heard?

“Well, we just closed a big case.” She kept her voice even, watching her mother for any sign of recognition. “Turned out to be a serial killer.”

“Here? In Trentville?” Mom laughed—a short, sharp bark devoid of humor. “You must be joking.”

Mom’s skepticism came from a fog of disbelief that Jenna felt compelled to clear. “It’s no joke,” she said, her tone as firm as it was weary. “A local woman murdered two individuals over the years, and we just barely stopped her from killing someone else.”

The server arrived with their breakfast, providing a momentary reprieve from the conversation. Then, when Jenna finally said the name of the killer, she could see Mom struggling to reconcile the image of the woman she thought she knew with the monster Jenna had uncovered.

“Tell me what happened, Jenna,” Mom pressed, her curiosity piqued despite the horror of it all.

Jenna looked away, her gaze resting on the café’s cheerful decor, that clashed with the darkness of the tale her mother had asked to hear. She didn’t want to get into how the victims had been forced to die. Jenna opted for omission; those gruesome deaths were too much for this morning light.

“Let’s just say her methods were... cruel. And she didn’t go down without a fight.” The memory of cold steel pressing against her throat flashed through her mind, but Jenna kept that part of the story neatly folded inside her, away from her mother’s prying eyes.

An uncomfortable silence settled as Jenna stirred her coffee, its black surface mirroring her dark thoughts. To dispel the gloom, she shifted gears. “And how have you been, Mom? What keeps you busy these days?”

Mom’s shoulders lifted in a noncommittal shrug. “You know, this and that.” The vagueness of her reply did not escape Jenna, who recognized the telltale signs of isolation and neglect.

As if in response to that moment, her dead father’s voice echoed in her mind, a whisper from the dream realm where he could still reach her. “Jenna, you’ve got to get tough. No more pussyfooting around. You understand?” At the time, the words had seemed cryptic, but now, they resonated with painful clarity.

Jenna studied her mother’s face, noting the pallor beneath the deep lines. It struck her then—in last night’s dream, her father was trying to tell her he was worried about her mother. He’d entrusted her with responsibilities that reached beyond her badge, into the tangled roots of family and the personal debts that came with it.

“Mom,” Jenna started, choosing her words as one might select tools from a kit, precise and deliberate. “I can see you’re not yourself lately. It worries me.”

“I’m fine, Jenna,” Mom retorted, but her voice lacked conviction. The lines on her face told a story of solitary nights and empty bottles.

“Is it the drinking?” Jenna pressed on, unwilling to let the matter rest. She needed to address the problem, regardless of how uncomfortable it made them both feel. “The last time we talked, you promised you’d cut back.”

Mom shifted in her seat, a faint flush rising in her cheeks. “I did cut back,” she said, avoiding Jenna’s probing gaze. “It was a rough patch, that’s all. I’ve got it under control now.”

But Jenna wasn’t convinced. Her intuition told her there was more to the story. She leaned forward, her resolve hardening. “Mom, I don’t believe you,” she declared, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The response was instant and tinged with bitterness. “You always were too stubborn for your own good,” Mom snapped back. “And since when do you get to interrogate me? You barely have the time of day for me these days.”

Jenna felt a pang of hurt at the accusation, but she couldn’t let herself be derailed. “I’m here now, aren’t I? And I’m worried about you, Mom. You lost Piper, yes, and Dad died, and you’ll always be grieving, but drowning in alcohol isn’t the answer.”

Mom recoiled as if struck, and her voice cracked with vulnerability and anger. “You think I don’t know that?” Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she fought them back. “I’m a widow, Jenna, and a mother who lost a child. How am I supposed to cope?”

Jenna swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She understood grief—all too well—but she also knew the destructive path her mother was spiraling down. She had seen it too many times in her line of work.

“By letting me help you,” Jenna replied softly, reaching across the table in a tentative offer of support. “We can get through this together, but not if you shut me out.”

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken words and shared pain. Finally, Mom nodded, a small yet significant concession. Jenna squeezed her mother’s hand, her touch promising action—a promise she intended to keep.

The shrill chirp of Jenna’s cellphone sliced through the moment like a scalpel, its urgency a stark reminder of reality outside the Sunflower Café. She could almost sense the relief that flickered across her mother’s face as Jenna retrieved her phone from the depths of her jacket pocket. The caller ID displayed Jake’s name in bold letters.

“Jenna here,” she answered as she stood up slightly to signal the seriousness of the interruption. Her mother’s gaze followed her every move, wary and expectant.

“Jenna, it’s Jake. I just arrived at headquarters and got a call from Otto Stevens. He says his daughter Amber’s missing. He sounded pretty shaken up,” Jake reported, his tone laden with a mix of concern and professional detachment.

“Missing?” Jenna’s sharp mind immediately kicked into gear, emerald eyes narrowing as she processed the information. “I’m on my way. I’ll pick you up in ten.”

“Thanks. See you soon,” Jake replied before ending the call.

Jenna’s focus returned to the woman sitting opposite her. Her mother attempted a rueful smile, grasping for humor in an effort to dispel the confrontation. “Saved by the bell, huh?”

“Mom, this isn’t over,” Jenna said, her words clipped and authoritative, reflecting not only her role as sheriff but also her resolve as a daughter. “I do have to go now, but I’ll get back to you soon.” She withdrew a couple of bills from her wallet, enough to cover both of their breakfasts, and laid them on the table. The gesture was swift, decisive—there was no room for negotiation.

Her mother watched silently, lips pursed, as Jenna turned away.

The clink of ceramic and the murmur of other patrons faded into the background as Jenna strode through the café’s door, each step carrying the weight of unfinished business and the promise of a return. She knew the conversation with her mother demanded completion, but duty called, and Sheriff Graves never shirked her duty.

The early morning sun cast long shadows across the pavement as Jenna navigated towards her car, parked just down the street. The air was already heating up, promising another sultry day in Trentville. Jenna’s hand found the warm metal of the car door, and she slid behind the wheel with practiced ease.

As she fired up the engine, her mind raced ahead to the Stevens’s home, anticipating the interviews, the search, the paperwork... the desperate hope that this was all just a misunderstanding. With one last glance toward the café, Jenna shifted into gear and drove off, leaving behind the scent of coffee and the echo of a conversation too important to abandon.

As she drove through the mundane tranquility of small-town life, Jenna felt the familiar stirring of her keen intuition. There was nothing ordinary about this day. Last night’s dream was obscure, but the warning was clear—something dark and dangerous lay in wait just ahead.

CHAPTER THREE

When Jenna’s patrol car rolled to a stop before the Genesius County Sheriff’s Office, she saw Jake leaning against a pillar, his uniform neat, his sandy hair bright in the sun’s rays. He hurried to join her, saying as he buckled in, “I just called Amber’s parents again. She’s still missing. Her folks sound scared, but my guess is this is just some false alarm.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Jenna replied. As she drove away from the modest single story brick building that was their headquarters, she was aware how pleasant Trentville could appear on a clear, warm, day like this, with the St. Francois Mountain Range in the background.

“Once we find her, it’s back to the usual grind,” Jake said, grinning. “We’ve got a wild garden gnome theft on our hands again. But we’ll probably find them stashed in somebody’s garage, just like before. Another neighborhood prank.”

“I’m sure you’re right about that one,” Jenna told him, but she couldn’t muster a smile in return. “This thing about Amber Stevens going missing, though—I hope it’s some sort of confusion, but I’m afraid this could be something different,” she admitted, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Jake studied her for a moment before curiosity tipped the scales. “Another dream?” he asked softly.

Jenna nodded, surprised by his response based on the confession she’d so recently made to him. She’d always been careful to guard her secret, the dreams that were more than mere figments of sleep. Now, Jake, along with the retired Sheriff Frank Doyle, both knew about her haunting gift. “Yes,” she said, “another dream.”

During the silence that followed, she wondered—what was he thinking? Did her abilities frighten him, or did they simply add another layer to the intricate puzzle of their workaday lives? Her attraction to Jake complicated matters further, adding a personal stake to the uncertainty. Jenna pushed these thoughts aside, focusing on the road ahead, aware that personal entanglements could not cloud her judgment—not when someone was missing and a life might be at stake. She felt the keen pain of her own missing twin sister.

Jenna kept her eyes on the road as she began, her voice low, “A young woman reached out to me, desperate for help.”

Jake shifted in his seat, turning his gaze towards her. “You think it was Amber Stevens?”

“I really don’t know.” Jenna’s frowned, her mind racing back to the fleeting images from her dream. “Otto Stevens is well known around these parts because of his auto shop. It’s likely I’ve seen Amber before, but I can’t recall her face clearly enough to be sure if she was the one in my dream.”

“I don’t remember her specifically either,” Jake said. “Lots of young people around here these days.”

“Maybe you can get her driver’s license photo. Or something from school.”

For a few moments, Jake busied himself with his phone.

“Here she is,” he said. “Driver’s license. No problems in her record. But I don’t recognize her.”

When Jenna pulled the car to a stop at a stoplight, he held up the phone for her to see. “Is this who you saw in your dream?”

Jenna’s lips pressed into a thin line. The photograph was small and not very good. “Maybe,” she said. “But these dreams aren’t always clear.” She shook her head, unable to explain how these lucid dreams could sometimes seem a bit out-of-focus, and how they felt like memories rather than fabrications of sleep.

“Didn’t see her face, then?” Jake asked, his brows knit together in concern as the light turned green and Jenna started driving again.

“Not very clearly,” Jenna admitted. “The details were blurred, elusive. But the woman I saw could have been Amber...”

Jake gazed at her from the passenger seat, understanding dawning. “If it was Amber reaching out in your dream,” he said, voicing the thought Jenna hadn’t dared to, “it would mean she’s no longer with us.”

He was right. Her gift—or curse—had never been wrong before. And it meant that Amber Stevens might be beyond their help.

The silence in the patrol car grew thick as Jenna navigated through the streets leading out of Trentville. She stole a glance at Jake, noting how his gaze stayed fixed on the passing scenery, a mask of concentration. How much had her confession altered his perception of her?

He’d been surprised at her story and also hurt that she hadn’t confided in him before. He’d accepted that she was telling the truth because it explained how she’d come up with some information that had helped solve cases. But he’d admitted, “I just... I don’t know where this leaves us. As a team. As friends.”

Soon, the rural landscape of Genesius County unfolded before them. The homesteads dotted along the rolling hills spoke of a simpler way of life, each property separated by stretches of greenery and weathered fences. Jenna turned onto a gravel driveway, pulling up to a one-story house framed by a wraparound porch and adorned with hanging flower baskets. It was a picture of pastoral tranquility, belying the distress surely felt inside.

Jenna and Jake left the vehicle and made their way to the front door. Before they could knock, the door swung open, revealing Norma Stevens. Her hair was pulled back into a hasty bun, strands escaping to frame a face creased with worry.

“Sheriff Graves, Deputy Hawkins,” Norma greeted, her voice tinged with anxiety. “Please come in.”

The warm and comfortable living room contrasted sharply with the situation. A man rose from a well-worn leather armchair, his movements deliberate, his expression grave. Otto Stevens’ large, calloused hands—evidence of years of labor at his auto shop—clasped together tightly as if holding onto the last vestiges of hope. His shirt, though casual, was neatly tucked in, and his salt-and-pepper hair was combed to one side, the very image of a father trying to maintain control amidst chaos.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Otto said, his voice steady but his eyes betraying fear. Jenna nodded, ready to delve into the details of Amber’s disappearance. She sat on a faded floral-patterned couch, her notepad open and pen poised. The room felt too quiet, the kind of silence that presses in on you with expectant weight. She glanced at Jake, who had taken up residence in a nearby armchair, his own notebook ready.

“Mrs. Stevens,” Jenna began, “could you walk us through what happened this morning?”

Norma fidgeted with the hem of her apron before responding. “Amber comes in pretty late at night from work. Otto and I have usually gone to bed, and she’s very quiet. We didn’t notice whether she’d gotten home at all last night. But Amber... she’s always up by seven, helps me with breakfast.” Her voice wavered, eyes drifting towards the staircase. “Today, when she didn’t come down, I thought maybe she’d slept in. But when I went to check on her, her room was empty, bed still made up neat as a pin. Then I saw that her SUV wasn’t in the driveway.”

“Did you try contacting her?” Jenna asked, keeping her tone even.

“I called her cell right away,” Norma said, pressing a hand to her chest. “Straight to voicemail. That’s not like her. Amber’s responsible. She always lets us know where she is. She’s been home on summer break from Ozark State University. She’ll be starting her junior year in the fall.”

Jenna scribbled a note before looking up again. Their eyes met, and Jenna could see the flicker of panic threatening to spill over.

“Has she been home all summer?” Jenna shifted the topic, hoping to ease Norma’s distress.

“Yes,” Norma replied, a hint of pride seeping into her words despite the circumstances. “She’s been volunteering at Paws and Harmony Rescue during her break. Loves animals, our Amber. Wants to be a vet.”

“Does she always work a night shift?” Jenna pressed gently.

“Every evening, until about eleven-thirty, but no later than midnight,” Norma confirmed. “She prefers those hours; says it’s quieter then, easier to study or read alongside the kennels.”

“Could Amber have stayed somewhere else last night? A friend’s place, perhaps?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning within.

Norma shook her head, the lines of worry deepening around her eyes. “No, she would’ve called. It’s not like her to just disappear. I even thought...maybe she went to Jason’s, but I got no answer on his phone either.” The mention of Jason Reeves sent a ripple through Jenna, memories of his mugshot flashing in her mind—disorderly conduct wasn’t easily forgotten in a town like Trentville.

Otto shifted in his seat, discomfort settling over his broad shoulders. “She didn’t stay with him,” he said, almost to himself. He avoided Norma’s probing stare as he continued, “Jason told me at the shop yesterday... Amber ended things between them. He wasn’t happy about it.”

Jenna watched as surprise flickered across Norma’s face. “You knew about this? Why wouldn’t you say anything, Otto?”

The air grew thick with tension, and Jenna sensed the undercurrents of a long-standing relationship strained by secrets and silence. She noted the strain in Otto’s jaw, the way he seemed to grapple with words unsaid. Jenna tucked away every detail, each one a potential piece of the puzzle.

Norma’s hands twisted in her lap. Jenna observed the silent exchange between husband and wife, recognizing the shadow of doubt that crept into Norma’s expression.

Otto’s fingers drummed a staccato rhythm against the armrest, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the room. “I didn’t mention it,” he said finally, his voice hoarse with reluctant confession, “because I wasn’t pleased about it either.” He paused, the lines deepening around his eyes. “Jason and Amber... they’ve been together since they were kids. I always thought—hoped—they’d take over the business one day.”

Jenna remained still, her keen eyes absorbing Otto’s every nuance. His hands ceased their movement, and he looked at them as if they belonged to a stranger. “I suppose part of me was waiting for Amber to reconsider,” he continued, a tremor in his words.

“Could Jason have hurt her because she ended things?” Jenna asked directly.

“Never,” Otto shot back, the scoff erupting from him like a reflex. “Jason wouldn’t harm Amber. He adores her.”

“That’s not entirely true, Otto.” Norma’s voice quivered but held an underlying steel. “You know as well as I do, Jason’s got a temper. It’s scared me more than once.”

Jenna’s focus shifted between the couple, noting the crack in their united front. “We’ll need to speak with Jason,” she stated firmly.

“Should be at the shop by now,” Otto replied, though his certainty seemed to falter under Norma’s worried gaze.

Otto’s hand trembled slightly as he dialed the familiar number for his auto repair shop.

“Hey, Rudy,” Otto said into the phone. “Could you put Jason on the line?”

Jenna watched his face tighten with concern at what the voice said in reply.

“Okay, Rudy,” Otto said. “Thanks.”

It was clear to Jenna that Jason hadn’t shown up to work. The room fell still after Otto ended the call, except for the ticking of a wall clock marking the passage of time—time during which Amber remained missing.

“Let me try his cell,” Otto said, more to himself than anyone present, as if willing the outcome to be different this time. He punched in the numbers and waited, his hopeful expression fading into resignation as the call diverted straight to voicemail. “Jason, it’s Otto. Call me back, son. It’s urgent.” The finality in his voice as the message ended betrayed Otto’s growing worry.

Jenna made a mental note of Otto’s visible shift from disbelief to concern. She also observed Norma, whose eyes never left her husband, reflecting a mirroring anxiety that seemed to magnify with each unanswered call.

“Mr. Stevens, could you give us Jason’s address?” Jenna asked, breaking the heavy silence. Otto recited it, and she scribbled the information in her notepad with an economy of movement, each stroke purposeful. At their request, he also described her blue SUV and recited its plate number.

“Could you show us a photo of Amber?” Jake asked.

Norma rose from her seat, her movements slow as if weighted down by dread. She reached for a silver-framed picture on the mantle, brushing off dust before handing it to Jenna.

“This was taken a few months ago,” she said.

The photo was a captured moment of radiance—a young woman with a bright smile, full of life. Jenna studied the image, the same haunted feeling from her dream resurfacing. She got a different feeling from this picture than she had from the license photo—a sharper feeling of recognition. There was something eerily familiar about Amber’s features, reminiscent of the dream’s spectral visitor. Jenna was struck by the curve of Amber’s smile, so much like the one that had pleaded with her in the ethereal realm of her dreams. Though Jenna knew better than to leap to conclusions, the resemblance was strong.

Jake leaned in to look at the photo, and Jenna sensed his gaze lingering not only on the image but also on her, searching for any sign of her thoughts. She felt exposed under his scrutiny, knowing her next words could alter the trajectory of their investigation—and their understanding of each other.

“Sheriff?” Jake’s voice, laced with concern, barely registered over the pounding of her heart.

She gave a curt nod, trying to steady her breath, to steady the world that seemed to tilt precariously at the edges. Could this vibrant, smiling girl be the one who had appeared to her, spectral and desperate?

She stood up and replaced the photograph on the mantle with care. A part of her— the analytical, grounded sheriff—clung to the hope that there was another explanation, any explanation other than the one her dream suggested.

“Is everything okay?” Norma’s voice broke through the tense silence.

“Of course,” Jenna lied smoothly. “Deputy Hawkins and I will be on our way now, and we’ll do everything we can to find your daughter.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Jenna’s expression was grim as she drove back toward Trentville.

“Well?” Jake’s question cut through her thoughts. “Did the new photo help? Was it Amber who appeared in your dream?”

Jenna shook her head slightly, her eyes never leaving the road. “I still can’t say for sure. The face in the dream was blurred, but the shape... I just got this feeling. Like it’s got to be the same woman.”

Jake’s frustration seeped into his tone. “But didn’t the dream woman give you anything? A clue to her identity?”

Drawing in a slow breath, Jenna raked her memory for any scrap of dialogue from the spectral encounter. Silence filled the car again as seconds ticked by. Finally, Jenna let out a sigh, the lines on her forehead deepening. “No, nothing concrete,” she admitted, a note of defeat sounding in her words.

“Maybe you need to push these spirits harder. Get them to talk,” Jake suggested, a touch of impatience coloring his words.

Jenna’s gaze flickered momentarily to him and back to the road. “It’s not that simple,” she replied. “It’s not like flipping a switch, Jake. My dreams, they don’t bend to my will.”

“Just tell me more about what you remember,” he replied calmly.

She reached back into her mind; then suddenly she felt the sensation, the fear. “At one point, there was this train locomotive barreling straight at us.”

“Us?” Jake queried, leaning back in his seat.

“Me and the woman—the one who might be Amber,” Jenna clarified, her voice tinged with frustration. “I tried to get her to move, to save her, but it was like we were both rooted to the spot.”

Jake’s face showed a mix of concern and intrigue as he considered her words. “A locomotive, huh? That’s... specific. Could she have been hit by a train?”

Jenna shook her head with certainty, her emerald eyes reflecting her resolve. “No, that’s not it. She told me in the dream, clear as day, ‘This is not how I die.’ She even told me it’s not how I die either. Then she told me to wake up. And so I did, my heart pounding out of my chest.”

“If not death, then what does the train represent?” Jake prodded gently. “Travel? Someone coming or leaving?”

“Sometimes, the images are just metaphors for something else entirely.” Jenna’s mind raced through possibilities, overlaying the supernatural with the concrete reality of her investigation. “Sometimes they’re more literal, but there’s no way to figure that out until I uncover more about the case.”

Jake made no reply, and when Jenna glanced at him, she saw that he was staring out the window.

“There’s more,” she said, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

“What is it?”

“In the dream, there was this oak tree, ancient and gnarled, with a large pruning scar on its side.” She paused, visualizing the vivid image from her slumber. “An invisible hand kept carving initials into the bark, then crossing them out over and over. They were initials, but I couldn’t remember the letters after I woke up, no matter how hard I tried. They felt significant, but it’s like trying to decipher a code without the key.”

“Could be a message or a location,” Jake mused. “You think it’s connected to Amber?”

Jenna exhaled, frustration lining her face. “I wish I knew. My dreams can be as cryptic as they are vivid. That oak tree could exist somewhere in Genesius County, or it could simply represent something else—obstacles, decisions... I don’t know. And I think there was more to the dream, but parts of it seem to have faded away completely.”

“Right,” Jake acknowledged, his voice laced skepticism that he couldn’t quite mask. “It’s just hard for me to get a handle on all this supernatural stuff. I mean, I’ve seen you pull out facts nobody else could, but this...” He gestured vaguely, searching for words.

“Believe me, I know how it sounds,” Jenna replied, her emerald eyes reflecting a mixture of resolve and weariness. “Part of the challenge is finding ways to tie these dreams to reality. Jake, I know you’re having trouble dealing with all this stuff. But please try to bear with me while I work this out in my own way.”

“I’m trying to be patient, Jenna. I trust you, I do. It’s just not easy wrapping my head around something I can’t see or touch.”

“Neither is living with it,” she confessed softly. “You know, sometimes I think I’d be better off without this... ability.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Jake acknowledged. “But as I understand it, you’ve got to find links between your dream world and the real world. That’s how you solve cases. So let’s try to do that. Let’s focus on what we can see, what we can prove,” he suggested, reaching over to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “At least we’ve got a tangible lead to follow. We can start with Jason Reeves.”

“Agreed,” Jenna replied.

As she turned the patrol car onto Jason Reeves’ street, she felt the familiar satisfaction of following solid information. The well-kept houses of this working-class neighborhood each told its own story of everyday life.

Pulling up to Jason’s home, they were greeted by the sight of an empty driveway and an empty open garage. Jenna killed the engine and stepped out of the car, her deputy following suit. They stepped onto his porch with purpose, and Jenna knocked on the door, announcing their presence with authority. “Jason Reeves, this Sheriff Graves and Deputy Hawkins. We need to have a word with you.”

Silence answered that call.

“Take a look at this, Jenna,” Jake said, looking in through a window. Jenna moved closer and peered inside. Chaos was visible—the living room was a disaster zone, furniture overturned, cushions slashed, and personal belongings strewn about as if a tempest had torn through the space. It looked like a physical manifestation of rage, and it chilled her to the bone.

“Hey, Sheriff Graves,” a voice called from next door.

Jenna turned to see a middle-aged woman leaning over the adjacent fence, concern etched into the lines of her face. Jake also stepped back from the window, his expression grim.

“Are you looking for Jason Reeves?” the woman inquired, her gaze flitting between Jenna and Jake.

“We are,” Jenna confirmed, her tone steady despite the undercurrent of urgency churning within her. “Do you know where he might be?”

The neighbor shook her head, the morning sun glinting off her glasses. “He’s not here, but something’s not right with that boy.”

Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake before they approached the woman. “What happened?” she asked.

“Last night, he came home from work like a tornado—angry, shouting at nothing. You could hear him all through the neighborhood.” The woman’s voice trembled slightly as she recounted the ordeal. “And then, the noise that came from his house... sounded like he was tearing it apart.”

“Did you see anything else?” Jake asked, his voice calm.

“After sundown, he stormed out, got into his pickup, and sped off. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since,” the woman disclosed.

“Thank you,” Jenna said, taking down the woman’s name. As they returned to the patrol car, the pieces fell into place with disturbing clarity. Jason Reeves was now more than just a hot-tempered ex-boyfriend—he was their prime suspect.

“Let’s get the Highway Patrol on this,” Jenna decided, twisting the patrol car’s radio dial to a secure channel. She glanced at Jake, who gave her a curt nod, acknowledging the gravity of their next move. She was soon connected with Colonel Chad Spelling, superintendent of the Missouri Highway Patrol.

“Colonel Spelling,” she announced crisply when his gruff voice answered, “this is Sheriff Graves from Genesius County.”

“Graves?” Spelling replied, “What’s the situation?”

“Sir, we have a missing person—Amber Stevens, nineteen, last seen yesterday evening. Her ex-boyfriend, Jason Reeves, has also disappeared, and his home...” Jenna paused, recalling the scene of chaos they’d witnessed through the window, “...it’s been trashed.”

“Sounds messy,” Spelling replied noncommittally.

“Can we get an APB on both Stevens and Reeves? We also need to start looking for Reeves’s pickup truck, starting with finding out his license plate number.”

“You’re talking about Otto Stevens’s daughter?” Colonel Spelling asked.

“That’s right. And Jason Reeves is a young mechanic who works for him. Her parents noticed her absence this morning after she didn’t come home from work,” Jenna explained.

“So Amber Stevens has only been missing since last night, you say?” Spelling probed, skepticism coloring his words. “You know, Graves, those two aren’t children. I’m not going to drain resources on a case that probably doesn’t even exist.”

“Sir, every minute counts in a missing person’s situation,” Jenna countered.

“Look, you’re running high from nailing that serial killer, and naturally you’re still cranked up about it. But we don’t have all that many big cases here these parts,” Spelling continued, dismissively. “And people just naturally vanish and reappear all the time. You know that at least as well as I do. Amber will probably stroll back any moment now. By the way, you did a great job with that serial killer.”

“Thank you for the kind words, Colonel,” Jenna replied, the words tasting like ash. “But I really don’t think I’m just overreacting.” She didn’t know how to convince him of that. She couldn’t reveal the spectral warnings of her dreams, the reason an unyielding dread clung to her about Amber’s absence.

“There’s Jason’s trashed living room,” she protested. “And he’s gone missing too.”

“Let’s not get hasty. Give it some time,” Spelling advised before ending the call with an abrupt click.

Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake, his face showing concern. She thought that even he seemed unsure now, his steadiness giving way to doubt.

“Jake,” she began, breaking the silence that had befallen them, “I can’t shake this feeling. It’s not just intuition; it’s more than that.”

He nodded, understanding the depth of her conviction, yet unable to offer the tangible support they needed. “What’s our next move? Without Spelling’s help, we’re flying blind.”

Jenna released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “We keep pushing. We follow every lead, every hunch. We owe Amber that much.”