This audiobook is narrated by a digital voice.

The first time Celeste Blackwood saw him, he was dying.

She jolted awake in her cramped studio apartment above the mystical shop, her grandmother's antique mirror reflecting her pale face in the pre-dawn darkness. The vision had been so vivid, so achingly real—a man with storm-gray eyes and dark hair falling across his forehead, blood seeping through his white shirt as he reached toward her with desperate fingers.

"Help me," he had whispered in her dream, and the sound of his voice sent shivers through her soul.

Celeste pressed trembling hands to her temples, trying to dispel the lingering images. At twenty-six, she had been experiencing prophetic dreams since childhood, but none had ever felt this personal, this urgent. The man in her vision was a stranger, yet somehow she felt as though she had known him across lifetimes.

Moonlight filtered through her sheer curtains, casting ethereal shadows across the crystals and herbs that lined her windowsill. Her grandmother's voice echoed in her memory: "The gift runs in our bloodline, child. When the visions come, they come for a reason."

Celeste wrapped her silk robe around her shoulders and padded barefoot to the window overlooking Mystic Harbor's quiet main street. The coastal Maine town slept peacefully below, fishing boats bobbing in the harbor like sleeping gulls. Nothing seemed amiss, yet an electric tension filled the air, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.