chapter four
The Boy in the Song
Nic didn’t tell people
about the dream.
Not because she was scared.
But because it felt too…
big.
Too sparkly.
Too real.
It started like a song.
Always.
Not one she knew,
but one that knew her.
It would hum itself
into her ears
while she slept—
soft, slow,
like the moon was singing.
And then—
just when the music curled up
behind her ribs…
he’d appear.
The boy.
The boy from the song.
He never said his name.
He didn’t need to.
Nic knew him.
He had star freckles
and laughter eyes.
Tattooed arms
(yes, even in a dream).
And a voice like thunder
hiding under velvet.
Clifford didn’t bark at him.
Not once.
In fact, Clifford would lie down
and sigh
whenever he showed up.
Which meant one thing:
“He’s safe.
He’s one of us.”
Nic and the boy
never talked much
in the dreams.
They just…
understood.
He’d hand her a guitar
made of moonlight.
She’d hand him a journal
with blank gold pages.
And they’d sit.
Back to back.
In the middle
of a quiet field.
Surrounded by fireflies
and stars
and everything they’d forgotten
but now remembered again.
And the boy would whisper—
“We’re getting closer.”
“You’re almost there.”
“Don’t stop remembering.”
And then—always—
she’d wake up.
Heart racing.
Wand buzzing.
The dreams never scared her.
They just made her want
to hurry up.
Like she was late to something
that didn’t start
until she showed up.
The boy didn’t visit
every night.
But when he did,
she slept differently.
Like her whole body
was singing.
And Nic had a feeling…
very soon,
she wouldn’t just see him
in dreams.
Because lately?
She could swear
she heard his voice…
in the real world too.