Chapter Text
The storm ripped through the forest like a living thing, tearing branches from trees and hurling sheets of rain sideways. Warren stumbled, his sneakers slipping on the mud slick path as thunder shook the air. His shirts was plastered to his skin, cold and heavy.
“What the hell…” His voice barely carried over the storm. He pushed wet hair out of his face, heart racing. “Where am I?”
Lightning split the sky, and for an instant he saw the lighthouse in the distance, standing stark against the black clouds. It pulsed in the night like some kind of beacon.
“I just gotta… get there. I’ll be fine if I can…”
Another blast of wind nearly shoved him to the ground. He shielded his eyes with his arm, forcing one step after another up the twisted path. Every breath felt sharp, like the air itself was cutting into his lungs.
Then through the sheets of rain, he saw her.
A ghostly figure near the treeline. A girl clutching her jacket against the storm. She looked so real it made his chest seize, but she wasn’t solid. She flickered, almost transparent, like a half faded photograph.
“…Max?” Warren blinked hard. When he opened his eyes again, she was already moving ahead of him, toward the lighthouse. Her outline bled into the storm until she was gone.
“What the fuck was that?” His stomach flipped. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the image. Maybe the rain was messing with his head. Maybe he’d been cramming physics equations too late again.
He kept pushing forward, legs burning, until the lighthouse loomed above. That was when he saw it the tornado, monstrous and alive, spiraling toward Arcadia Bay. It made the ocean look like a toy beneath it, ripping whole pieces of the world into the air.
“No way… that’s not real. That’s..”
The top of the structure cracked and began to fall, stone and glass crashing down toward him. Warren stumbled back, throwing up his hands and everything went black.
Warren jerked awake at his desk, his pen clattering to the floor. His heart still hammered, like he’d actually run through that storm. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights and the faint smell of formaldehyde grounded him back to reality. He was in physics, not caught in the end of the world.
Ms. Grant’s voice was steady at the front of the room,
Warren sat up straighter, tugging at the collar of his shirt. He ran a hand through his hair, still half expecting it to be wet.
“Was that a dream?” he muttered under his breath. “Had to be. Just a dream.”
He glanced around. Everyone else was scribbling notes. No one looked like they’d just been caught in a hurricane.
But the image wouldn’t leave his head. The roaring storm. The lighthouse shattering. And Max….Max looking like a ghost, standing in the rain. He clenched his fist around his pen, forcing himself to focus.
“Get it together, Graham,” he whispered. “It was just your brain glitching. Nothing more. Just… a nightmare.”
But deep down, he wasn’t sure.
Warren gripped his pen tighter, tapping it against the edge of his notebook. His page was still blank, lines waiting for equations that refused to come.
“Okay,” he muttered under his breath, “there’s no way that was real. Just a stress dream. Textbook sleep hallucination.”
He started listing off explanations in his head, the way he always did when something freaked him out.
“The brain misfires signals and makes it feel real. Or… maybe hypnagogic imagery, bleeding into waking consciousness.” He scribbled the terms into the margins of his notebook, as though writing them down would make them truer.
But then he remembered her. Max. Or what looked like Max. The flickering outline of her shape burned more vividly into his memory than the storm itself.
“That part doesn’t add up…” he whispered. “You can’t hallucinate a specific person with that much detail unless… unless..”
But the way she’d turned her head toward him with a confused look on her face like she’d known he was there. He shook his head hard, leaning back in his chair. “No. Nope. Storms that size don’t just happen out of nowhere, either. Meteorologically impossible. We’d see pressure changes days in advance. Come on. Physics would laugh me out of the room.”
The buzzer finally rang, and students began packing up and leaving as fast as possible. Ms. Grant’s eyes swept the room, landing on Warren with that unmistakable combination of curiosity and mild irritation.
“Warren,” she said, her voice calm but edged with disappointment, “I have to admit I expected more from you today. You’re one of the brightest in this class, and yet…” She gestured at his nearly blank notebook. “…you’ve got nothing substantial to show for today’s lesson.”
Warren’s stomach sank. “Uh… I… I was… um…” Words failed him. How could he explain that he’d just survived a hurricane in his mind? That a ghostly version of Max Caulfield had been standing in a rainstorm not five feet from him?
“Uh… not yet, Ms. Grant,” he mumbled, trying to keep his voice steady. “I… I was, uh… thinking through it?”
The teacher’s brow furrowed, disappointment thinly veiled. “Warren, you’re one of my brightest students. I expect more than… thinking. You’re sitting there with a blank page while the rest of the class is actively applying what we’ve covered. Are you telling me that even a single thing didn’t make it onto that notebook?”
He swallowed hard, cheeks warming. “I… yeah. I guess I got distracted.”
“Distracted?” Ms. Grant’s tone sharpened slightly, though she kept her composure. “Warren, brilliance is wasted when it doesn’t translate into work. You know this. Everyone here knows your capabilities. I expect you to hold yourself to that standard, not let your mind wander into… whatever tangent you’ve chosen this time. I’m going to have to make you stay behind and I want a full write up before you leave.”
“Yes… ma am,” he muttered, feeling the familiar twinge of guilt. He hated disappointing teachers, especially when it had nothing to do with his actual knowledge.
As the door clicked shut behind Ms. Grant leaving, Warren slumped in his chair, flipping open his notebook. Equations and diagrams stared back at him, blank in all the wrong places. He scribbled some notes, trying to focus on the paper, but his mind refused to cooperate. Why can’t I just focus? he thought, tapping his pen against the paper. His thoughts kept drifting back to that nightmare.. the storm, the lighthouse, and… Max. That ghostly image of her flickering in the rain wouldn’t leave his head. He just wanted to know if it was all in his head. She has my flash drive, he reminded himself, stomach tightening. All those pirated movies he’d compiled for her she had it, and probably wasn’t even thinking about him right now. But he just wanted to make sure she was okay. He finished the physics paper and tapped the pen against the desk. Done. His head swirled with worry. He dug his phone out and quickly sent a message to max.
Warren finally closed his notebook, the bell long gone. He trudged down the hall toward the main campus, still thinking about Max. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure storming out of the principal’s office. Nathan slammed the office door behind him, muttering under his breath, pacing like a predator contained by invisible walls. Warren instinctively ducked behind a column for a second, while studying him. Warren’s stomach sank. He’d seen Nathan’s unstable side in passing, but now he had front row seats. The guy was volatile, dangerous even, and his presence made Warren’s chest tighten not with fear, exactly, but with a nagging sense of “stay alert.”
Yeah, still an asshole, Warren thought, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. But his eyes lingered on Nathan, a strange mix of curiosity and concern twisting together. I wonder… what just went down in there.
Ugh, typical Prescott. Warren thought. What a walking ego. Of course he’s pissed. Probably thinks the world owes him or something.
Nathan’s face was flushed, his hands clenching and unclenching as he stomped toward the exit, Warren could feel the tension radiating off him, that same arrogance that always made interactions unpleasant.
He didn’t like the guy. Not even a little. But at the same time, he couldn’t stop wondering if Nathan had really crossed some line this time or if the situation was worse than it seemed.
Warren telling himself to focus on one thing at a time, get to the parking lot, check on Max, and make sure she was okay. Nathan Prescott could stew in his anger for all Warren cared he had bigger priorities right now.
Warren leaned against the hood of his car as Max approached, clutching the flash drive like it was a lifeline. He forced a smile, trying to act casual, but his chest was still tight.
“What up, Max? You okay?” he asked, stepping closer, hands awkwardly half raised in a hug attempt. Rejected.
Max held out the flash drive instead, offering it like a shield.
“Here’s your flash,” she said, voice tight.
Warren took it with a grateful nod. “Thanks… seriously. Man, I was worried.” He paused, glancing at her face, scanning for any sign of the storm from his nightmare. She looked… real. Alive. And it made him exhale, relief bleeding through his chest. Okay. She’s okay. It was just a weird dream.
He gestured toward the car. “Check out my new wheels… ’78 classic. Perfect for a drive-in run. There’s one in Newberg, sixty miles away.”
Max smirked. “You’re in the wrong decade, Warren. But hey… so am I today.”
He chuckled, feeling some of the tension ease. “You’ve had a rough one?”
Max shook her head, letting the words linger between them. “I… don’t want to talk about it.”
Warren exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Geez. Little Miss Sensitive today, huh?”
“I wouldn’t push your luck,” she muttered.
He didn’t press further. The flash drive was safe in his pocket, Max was standing there, unharmed and somehow that made the nightmare feel smaller, like it had only ever existed in the back of his mind. He could almost rationalize it scientifically stress hallucination, hypnagogic imagery, nothing more.
Still, a small knot of worry lingered. She’s okay. She’s really okay she’s right here.
They stood in a comfortable silence before Max scrolling through her thoughts, Warren trying not to let his own anxieties spill out. And then he noticed movement down the lot. A familiar figure stormed toward them, imposing, and radiating the kind of raw fury. Nathan Prescott. Warren tensed. Oh, no. Not now.
Nathan’s eyes locked on Max, face twisting in anger. Warren instinctively stepped in front of her. “Get away from her, dude,” he warned.
Nathan’s first movement caught him off guard. A quick headbutt sent Warren stumbling backward, pain flaring across his forehead.
Max reacted instantly, pushing Nathan back. But he spun around, closing the distance and grabbing at her. Max’s nails raked across Nathan’s cheek in a desperate attempt to defend herself, and in retaliation, he shoved her roughly to the ground. Panic clawed at Warren’s chest. No. Not her. Please don’t let this happen
Then, like a lightning strike cutting through the tension, a truck screeched to a halt. The passenger door swung open, and a sharp, familiar voice rang out.
“Max?”
Max’s eyes flicked to the car, and relief flickered across her face. “Chloe?”
Warren’s instincts kicked in. He lunged, slamming into Nathan and sending him sprawling to the ground just enough to give Max a clear path. Adrenaline roared through his veins, mixing with a lingering, jittery fear. His heart thumped so violently it felt like it would break free.
“Go! Go! I got this!” Warren shouted, voice rough with urgency.
Max didn’t hesitate. She sprinted to the truck, flinging the door open and scrambling into the driver’s seat. Warren watched until she was safely inside, heart still hammering.
But then the world around him wavered, like heat rising from asphalt on a summer day, except it wasn’t heat. It was… distortion. everything blurred, shifting. Warren rubbed his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms against his sockets. “No… not again,” he muttered. The storm. The lighthouse. But this wasn’t the storm.
And then he saw it.
A flash of a bright room, white walls glaring almost painfully, furniture pushed aside. Nathan, slumped, eyes glazed and unfocused. Jefferson leaning close, speaking, his lips moving too fast to catch the words. Rachel Amber, face pale, motionless on the floor. The room glowed so brightly it burned into Warren’s vision, yet he felt like he was there, invisible, unseen.
Jefferson’s hands rested lightly on Nathan’s shoulders. “You… you did this, Nathan,” the man said, voice syrupy, persuasive. “You were the one responsible. You were the only one who could have”
Warren blinked, trying to anchor himself. His brain screamed that this was impossible. He had just been in the parking lot. Yet every detail, the way Nathan’s fingers twitched, the way Jefferson’s words slithered through the air felt real just like the storm.
“Look at me,” Jefferson continued, leaning closer, voice dropping. “You remember what happened, don’t you? You can’t hide it. Rachel… it’s your fault. You made the choice.”
Nathan’s head lolled slightly, voice came out with a sob. “I… I… I didn’t… I didn’t mean to” His voice was faint, slurred, barely coherent.
Jefferson’s eyes glinted with satisfaction. “Shhh… it’s okay. Just remember it. You did it, Nathan. You were angry, you… you lost control. It was you. Not me. You… you’re responsible.”
Warren’s vision wavered violently, the bright room, Jefferson, and Rachel Amber folding in on themselves. A sharp, piercing pain shot through his ears, like static tearing through his skull. He stumbled, clutching at his head, his knees nearly buckling.
The Prescott heir was pacing a few feet away, fists clenching and unclenching, his face flushed with that familiar mix of arrogance and barely contained anger. Warren froze, chest hammering. Nathan’s eyes flicked up at him and for a split second, the smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of something like alarm.
“What the hell, Graham?” Nathan barked, voice sharp and clipped. “You look like you just saw a ghost whatthefuckever happened?.”
Warren swallowed hard, the taste of iron from his nose bleeding sharp on his tongue. His hands trembled. “I… I just… I saw something,” he stammered, voice shaking. “Something… happened…”
Nathan smirked again, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, here we go. You’re panicking over nothing again, huh? Typical nerd meltdown. What, did you stay up all night memorizing equations in your little science cocoon?”
Warren took a shaky breath, trying to hold onto his composure. “No… you don’t get it. I… I saw—” He swallowed hard, struggling for words. “Rachel Amber. She… she was on the floor. Dead...”
Nathan froze midstep. His smirk faltered, replaced with a flicker of disbelief. “Wait… what? What the fuck are you talking about? How the hell would you even know that?”
Warren’s hands shook, the blood on his upper lip warming his fingers. “I… I don’t know! I wasn’t… I wasn’t there. I swear! But I saw it. I… I don’t understand it, I”
Nathan’s expression hardened again, masking the flash of shock. His cocky, arrogant tone returned. “You’re full of shit, Graham. You expect me to believe you somehow saw that? What, you’ve been spying on me or some shit? You’re insane, man. Fuck off.” Nathan’s voice sharpened, each word dripping with venom.
Warren’s chest heaved, hands trembling as he wiped at the blood on his upper lip. The memory of the vision no, the glimpse, it burned behind his eyes. He couldn’t shake it. He hadn’t seen it in real life, not really, yet it had been so vivid, so detailed…
“Jefferson…” Warren whispered, almost to himself, voice shaky. “He… he was there. Telling you… that Rachel… that you… that it was your fault.”
Nathan froze, eyes narrowing. His cocky mask faltered for the first time. A flicker of panic passed over his features. “What the fuck…? Wait… what do you mean, Jefferson? How the fuck would you know that?”
Warren swallowed hard, heart hammering. “I… I don’t know how I know. I just… saw it. I saw you, Nathan. I saw him talking to you. And Rachel… she… she was on the floor. Dead. Jefferson… he was telling you it was your fault.” Nathan’s jaw went tight. He took a step back, fists clenching harder. “What… what are you talking about? That… that didn’t happen… I mean… I… I wouldn’t… I..” His voice broke slightly, a rare crack in his usual arrogance.
Warren’s stomach dropped. He didn’t know who killed Rachel. He had no proof.
Nathan’s breathing became shallow, erratic. “Wait… wait, no… no… you don’t get it… he.. he’s… he’s the only one I trusted! I.. he said… he said it was me… he told me it was my fault…”
He took a cautious step closer, voice low but urgent. “Nathan… do you… do you actually remember what happened with Rachel? Nathan froze, one fist clenching, the other tapping nervously against his thigh. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, jaw tight. Finally, he spat out, “Yeah… maybe I do. Sort of… I mean… I don’t fucking know it’s all kinda fuzzy, okay? But… he told me it was my fault. Like I… I fucked up everything. He… he said that I…”
Warren’s stomach twisted. Every word Nathan muttered matched what he’d seen. He rubbed at his forehead, trying to steady himself. “It… it’s true then. You remember him saying it. And Rachel…” He hesitated. “…she was there. Dead. You didn’t do it. You looked so out of it… Jefferson… he’s manipulating you.”
Nathan’s cocky smirk flickered, but he didn’t drop it entirely. “Manipulating me? Are you serious, Graham? You just see shit, and suddenly you’re an expert on my life? You weren’t even there, Nerd!” His voice was sharp, but the tremor in his tone betrayed him.
“I-I saw it,” Warren said, voice trembling. “I don’t know how, I don’t understand it myself. But it happened, Nathan. I saw you, him, and Rachel… everything.”
Warren’s chest heaved again, and a cold sweat prickled at his forehead. His vision swam and his hands shook so badly he had to grip his jeans to steady himself.
Wait… if that vision of Jefferson and Rachel was real… then what about the storm? The thought hit him like a punch. The lighthouse… Max… she was alive… I just saw her. But what if that wasn’t a dream? What if it’s a future vision? What if… she’s in danger?
“No… no, no, no,” Warren whispered, his voice tight with panic. He pressed his palms to his face, trying to force the images away, but the memory of the storm, the lightning, and the lighthouse pulsed behind his eyes like a heartbeat.
Nathan, still tense but slightly curious, stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck are you mumbling about now? Spit it out, Graham. What’s got you twisting like a little leaf in the wind?”
Warren swallowed hard, panic edging into his voice. “The storm… Max… she was just there. I saw her. Alive. And then… the lighthouse. The tornado. It… it’s coming, Nathan. It’s real. I didn’t just… dream it. I think it’s… a vision.”
Nathan froze mid-step, the smirk slipping entirely from his face. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as he processed Warren’s words. “Wait… what the fuck did you just say?” His voice shook, cracking with disbelief and panic. “You saw a storm? A tornado? A… a fucking lighthouse and a storm coming?”
Warren swallowed hard, his voice rising in desperation. “I… I don’t know what to call it. I thought it was a dream at first. But I saw her Max, and then… the storm. The tornado. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen. I… I think… I think it’s real. She’s in danger, Nathan. I can’t… I can’t ignore this.”
Nathan froze, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His usual arrogance still clung to him, but the veneer was cracked, trembling under Warren’s words. “You’re… you’re seriously saying you saw all that? Like… a fucking premonition or some shit?” His voice was low, sharp, almost suspicious.
Warren nodded frantically. “I don’t know how it works, okay? I don’t know if it’s… time bending, visions… something. But I saw her, and the storm Nathan, it’s coming. We have to”
Nathan’s eyes darted to the sky, then back at Warren, his jaw tight. “We? You… you’re really saying this is happening? That’s… that’s insane. I’ve seen things… weird stuff… flashes, like lightning in my brain, but I thought I was losing it. I thought it was all in my fucked up brain. And now you… fucking saying that you saw it too?” Nathan’s scowl returned, though it didn’t hide the tremor beneath it. “Figures… some nerd sees the same shit I do and suddenly it’s all okay, huh? You think we’re… what, in some kind of experiment? Cause I sure as fuck didn’t sign up for this.”
Warren’s chest heaved. He had to get him to focus, to understand. “Nathan… I need you to be honest with me. Everything you’ve told me about Jefferson, your relationship with him…?”
Nathan’s jaw tightened, eyes darting away for a fraction of a second as if weighing whether he could trust Warren with the truth. He let out a sharp, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “My relationship with Jefferson? You wanna know about that, Graham? You really don’t know what you’re asking. He… he’s the only one who ever paid attention, okay? The only one who didn’t treat me like just some fucked up spoiled rich kid or a fuck up. You think my life’s been easy, Huh? That I just… stroll through shit and everything’s golden? It’s not. He… he saw me. He listened. And I… I trusted him, alright? I trusted his voice more than anything”
His voice cracked for a split second, then hardened again. “And yeah, he… he made me feel like I mattered. Like I could do something right for once. And then… then he told me it was all my fault. Rachel. Everything. I… I didn’t know what to think. I… I believed him, Graham. I trusted him. He was… the only one I trusted.”
Warren’s chest tightened. The way Nathan said it, the raw honesty buried beneath all the bluster and arrogance it made Warren’s stomach churn. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his panic at bay. “Nathan… that’s exactly why he’s dangerous. He’s not... He’s… he’s using you. Manipulating you. Making you think that everything, even the worst, is your fault so you’ll keep listening, keep trusting him.”
Nathan’s shoulders tensed, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles went white. His eyes darted away, jaw tight, voice low but dangerous. “But… what if he was telling the truth, huh? What if… what if I actually did it? What if Rachel… it really was me? Huh, Graham? Maybe I… maybe I’m the fuck up he said I was. Maybe he’s right what if I actually killed Rachel….”
For the first time, Warren didn’t see arrogance or swagger in Nathan’s face just raw fear, so sharp it was almost painful to look at. His hands were trembling, his chest heaving, and yet his voice dropped, quieter, like the words were dragging him down.
“I loved her, Graham… you don’t get it. Rachel. She listened. She didn’t look at me like I was broken. She… she made me feel like maybe I wasn’t fucking doomed. I wouldn’t I wouldn’t hurt her like that. Not Rachel. But… what if… what if Jefferson’s right and I just don’t remember?”
Warren’s stomach twisted so hard he almost doubled over. Every instinct in him screamed that Nathan wasn’t lying. His tone, his eyes, it wasn’t the cocky Prescott mask anymore, it was something else. Something scared, fractured. And for reasons he couldn’t even fully explain, Warren believed him.
He took a step forward, forcing his voice to steady even as his heart pounded.
“No. Nathan… listen to me. I don’t buy it. I don’t believe you killed her. I can’t. Not after what I saw.”
Nathan’s eyes snapped to him, raw with both suspicion and desperate hope. “What the fuck do you mean, you don’t buy it? You saw her dead. You saw me there. How can you say that?”
Warren shook his head, gripping the strap of his backpack so tightly his knuckles ached.
“Because you weren’t there, Nathan. Not really. You were out of it, barely conscious. Jefferson was the one standing over her. He was the one whispering in your ear, making you think it was your fault. Everything about that… it was wrong. It doesn’t feel right”
Before he could think twice, Warren reached out and grabbed Nathan’s hand. His own fingers were clammy, trembling with leftover adrenaline, but the gesture was instinct, a desperate attempt to ground both of them.
Nathan froze, his whole body going rigid. His fist had been clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palm, but now Warren’s grip was forcing it open. His eyes darted down to their joined hands, then back up at Warren, suspicion and something else flickering across his face.
“The fuck are you doing, Graham?” Nathan muttered, but his voice wasn’t sharp more confused, thrown off balance. Warren blinked, realization crashing in all at once. His chest lurched. Shit. Did I seriously just do that? His first instinct was to yank his hand away, stammer out an apology, pretend it hadn’t happened. But Nathan’s hand was trembling in his, and against all logic, Warren didn’t let go.
“I… I just” Warren’s voice wavered, but steadied again. “I don’t think you did it, Nathan. And I’m not gonna let you believe Jefferson’s lies without a fight. You’re not alone in this.”
Nathan let out a jagged, uneven laugh, dragging his free hand through his hair until it stuck up in messy tufts. “Christ, Graham… you’re fucking insane. Completely gone.” His voice cracked around the edges, bitter and exhausted. But then he looked away, eyes glassy, and his tone dropped to something almost fragile. “…But what if you’re right? What if… all this time, he’s just been dumping his shit on me just to cover his own ass?”
Warren’s heart slammed against his ribs. His fingers tightened instinctively around Nathan’s, refusing to let go.
“Then we prove it,” Warren said, steady now, his voice carrying a certainty he didn’t even know he had. “We find something. Evidence. Anything that shows Jefferson’s the one pulling the strings. Because if we don’t…” He swallowed hard, meeting Nathan’s eyes head-on. “…he’s gonna bury you with it. He’s already setting you up.”
Warren felt the heat climb into his cheeks the moment awareness hit him. His fingers twitched, suddenly too conscious of the way Nathan’s hand was still resting in his. Shit. How long had they been standing like this?
Nathan noticed too his eyes flicked down, then back up, his expression tightening. For a split second, something unreadable flickered across his face, almost… vulnerable. Then he tore his hand back like it burned, shoving it into his pocket with forced nonchalance. “Tch. Weird, Graham. Real fucking weird.”
Warren looked away fast, his own pulse racing.
“Y-yeah… guess it was. Sorry. I just…” His words trailed off, the heat in his face refusing to fade.
Nathan scoffed, but it came out more like a shaky exhale than a laugh. “…Forget it.” He glanced aside, jaw tight, like even he wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Warren cleared his throat, desperate to fill the silence. “Look… uh… Jefferson. If we’re right, he’s dangerous. He’s not just manipulating you he’s setting you up to take the fall. That means we need proof.”
Nathan gave a bitter snort, eyes flicking away. “Proof. What, you think he just leaves it lying around? A big neon sign saying, “Hey, I killed Rachel”? You don’t get it, Graham. He’s careful. Smarter than me. Smarter than you.”
“Maybe,” Warren said, surprising himself with how steady his voice came out. “But people like him they always slip up somewhere. Files, photos, recordings… he has to keep something. And if he trusted you…then”- “maybe he left me crumbs,” Nathan finished, almost to himself. His brow furrowed, a storm of conflict playing across his face.
Warren nodded. “Exactly. We look for patterns. Times he contacted you. Places he brought you. Anything he made you do. If we can connect the dots, maybe we’ll find any evidence.”
Nathan’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding. “So you’re saying I play along. Keep my mouth shut, pretend I’m still his little puppet, while we dig around behind his back?”
Warren hesitated. “I… yeah. I think it’s the only way. If you cut him off now, he’ll know something’s up. But if you keep pretending…” He swallowed. “…then we might get something solid enough to stop him.”
Nathan’s laugh was bitter, humorless, echoing off the asphalt. “Great. Just peachy. I keep playing good little lapdog while Jefferson pulls the strings. You’re out of your damn mind, Graham.”
Warren’s eyes darted around the lot, paranoia creeping in. A couple of students crossed the far end, tossing glances their way, and Warren’s stomach sank. They couldn’t risk this out in the open. Not with what they were saying.
He tugged nervously at his backpack strap. “We… we shouldn’t keep talking about this here. Anyone could overhear.”
Nathan’s gaze snapped to him, sharp, calculating. For a second, Warren thought he’d scoff, brush him off, call him paranoid. But instead, Nathan’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he jerked his head toward the stairwell by the side of the dorms.
“Fine. Not here,” Nathan muttered. “Too many nosy fuckers. C’mon.”
Warren’s vision hit him like a sledgehammer. the world bending and groaning under the pressure of the storm. His ears rang with a high pitched whine as if his eardrums couldn’t handle the sheer force of the wind. The ground rippled under his feet like water, the air electric, heavy with the smell of ozone.
He clutched his head, ears ringing.
“Not again… please, not again…”
He turned, and there it was.. the lighthouse, glowing faintly through the storm, the same as before. The tornado coiled above it, massive, impossible, ripping the sky apart. Warren’s pulse hammered. The same vision. The storm. Max...Lightning split the sky, He stumbled, nearly falling, when a flicker of movement. Up the path toward the lighthouse.
His heart leapt into his throat.
“Max?” he breathed.
She was there he could see her clearly through the chaos, clutching her head, staring around like she was just as lost. And she looked at him actually looked at him. Their eyes locked across the impossible distance.
“Warren?” she called, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind. Warren stumbling forward, reaching out, the storm swallowing her image in sheets of rain and lightning. “No! Max!” Warren shouted.
The lighthouse shuddered, its top tearing away and tumbling toward the ocean.
Warren clutched his temples, agony stabbing through his skull. His nose bled freely, “This isn’t this can’t”
A voice broke through, sharp and furious, echoing in the storm.
“Graham! The fuck is wrong with you? Snap out of it!”
The world fractured. Max’s outline dissolved like static on a TV screen. And then..
Warren gasped, blinking hard.
The storm was gone.
“…Jesus .. fuck.,” Nathan muttered under his breath, voice rougher than usual, almost involuntarily. His jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair, trying to mask the flicker of worry that had shot through him. “You… you okay, Graham?”
Warren blinked rapidly, still clutching his temples, nose bleeding, breathing ragged. “…I-I don’t know. I… Max…” His voice cracked, swallowed by the memory of what he had seen. “She… the tornado… the lighthouse…it happened again.”
Nathan’s gaze darted around, sharp and calculating,“…Yeah,” he said finally, his tone clipped, controlled, “…I get it. Look, just… just breathe, alright? You’ll be okay.”
A single, delicate flake drifted down, landing on Warren’s shoulder. He blinked, frowning. “…Snow?” His voice cracked, disbelief lacing the word. Another flake joined it, then another, drifting in lazy, swirling patterns. The air was impossibly warm for snow, the sky still heavy with the late afternoon sun.
Nathan’s eyes narrowed, scanning the falling flakes. “…What the fuck…?” He muttered under his breath, hands balling into fists at his sides. He glanced at Warren, suspicion and something else flashing in his eyes. “You seeing this too?”
Warren’s chest tightened. He crouched slightly, holding out a hand, letting a flake land on his palm. “…It’s… it shouldn’t be snowing. Not like this. Temperature’s way too high. Humidity’s off the charts. This isn’t normal. This is” His mind raced, “…This isn’t just weather… it’s… it’s an anomaly. Something’s coming. Something big.”
Nathan, arms crossed, jaw tight, ran a hand down his face and muttered under his breath, “…Figures, Fucking great.” His tone was rough, sarcastic, but there was a thread of worry woven through it, subtle but impossible to ignore. He stepped closer to Warren, scanning the sky. Warren’s chest tightened, pulse hammering in his ears. “…It’s coming, Nathan. The storm… it’s coming.”