But somewhere, deep in the bone-marrow of her mind, a clock began to tick.

Elara stared at the bed. “Collective dreaming? That’s not biologically possible.”

“No,” Kaelen agreed. “It wasn’t. Not before 2012. Not before her . When Yuki’s body was autopsied, they found nothing wrong—except her pineal gland had crystallized. Not calcified. Crystallized . Like a tiny, perfect geode. Inside it, etched at a molecular level, was a date. Not her death date. The date she dreamed about. November 17th, 2047.”