Rain tapped steadily against the windshield as Cassian guided the rented sedan through the outskirts of the city. Streetlights reflected across wet pavement while distant neon signs shimmered through the darkness like distorted ghosts. The dashboard clock read a little past nine in the evening.
He had changed locations again.
The third safehouse this month.
The fifth if he counted places he only used for a few hours before moving on.
Most people would have called it paranoia.
Cassian would have agreed a few weeks ago.
Now he wasn't so sure.
His fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel.
The dreams kept coming.
Not normal dreams.
Not memories.
Not nightmares.
Information.
Fragments of conversations.
Records being accessed.
Names appearing in reports.
Locations being reviewed.
Every time he ignored one of the dreams, something happened that proved it mattered.
The pattern had repeated too many times to dismiss.
He still couldn't explain how it worked.
