It began as dreams. Fleeting, blurred flashes of laughter echoing in the dark, the glint of a blade, a flicker of white greasepaint under a streetlight.

You told yourself it wasn’t real—until Sienna called you one night, voice trembling.

“You’re seeing him too, aren’t you?”

Your stomach dropped. “How do you know that?”

She exhaled shakily. “Because I saw you. In my dream. You were running—and he was right behind us.”

After that night, the visions came stronger. Every time before Art struck somewhere in Miles County, you both saw him in your dreams: the same twisted smile, the same mocking wave. Sometimes he was right next to you, sometimes watching from a distance—but always waiting.

You and Sienna started keeping track. Locations, details, faces. And slowly, a pattern formed.

“He’s showing us what he’s going to do,” Sienna said, eyes red from sleepless nights. “He wants us to see it.”