A few nights after the police visit, I have my first vivid dream.

I’m standing at the base of a playground, surrounded by never-­ending trees, an icy breeze grazing my skin. It’s quiet and empty, and at first I think I’m alone, until I notice a little boy sitting on the swing set. He watches me solemnly as I approach, eyes striking—one blue, one green—and using one foot in the mulch to push himself back and forth.

The sky is a thick, hazy grey, and something about the stillness makes me wonder if the boy needs any help. Trying to appear friendly, I plaster a smile on my face and crouch down to his level. “How’s it going?”

He doesn’t speak, the swing creaking with each sway.

“Where are your parents? Are you here by yourself?”

Again, I receive no response, and I straighten up, glancing around the barren park. The sky rapidly grows darker, becoming nightfall at an unnatural pace, and I take a step back, suddenly feeling unsafe.

Like we’re being watched.

“Hey, I think we should get out of here,” I tell him, reaching out a hand. “Do you want to come with me?”

He blinks, his face remaining stoic. But this time he speaks. “Are you awake?”

“What?”

“Are you awake?”

He looks at something over my shoulder as the playground is lit up in a flash of white. He points, and I turn around just in time to see a pair of glaring headlights barreling in my direction.

Gasping, I dive out of the way, but before I hit the ground, I come to with a start, grabbing hold of my comforter and breathing heavily.

There’s a knock on my door, and I squint at the sunlight coming in through the window, pulse racing. It takes a few moments for me to register reality and shake off the dream. Dr. Meyer told me this might happen—that my brain is working double time to try to right itself, and bizarre, semitruthful dreams could be the result. I try to grasp the details before they fade away. Surely it has to mean something.

“Allie.” I hear Audrey’s voice on the other side of the door, startling me again. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse.

“I made breakfast. You should eat soon if you don’t want to be late for school.”

As her footsteps retreat down the hallway, I catch sight of the clock, realizing I slept through my alarm. After getting dressed and settling my heart rate, I head downstairs, hit instantly with the smell of something sweet.

Audrey uses a spatula to place a pancake on a plate, then sets it down on the island, and I take a seat in front of it, mouth watering.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely, digging into the meal as she takes the stool next to me.