The task force room felt smaller than usual that afternoon. Ramis stood against the wall, arms crossed, watching as Dr. Elias Reed sat hunched over at the metal table. The doctor looked smaller under the bright lights, his glasses slipping down his nose.
Marcus leaned forward, voice steady but firm. "Let's go over this again, Reed. The Dream Weaver — how did you contact her?"
Reed wiped sweat from his forehead. "Through a burner app. Encrypted messages only. She would send the client list, I would prepare the doses, and Crowe would handle delivery. I never saw her face. Never heard her real voice until today."
Ruiz slid a photo across the table — a still from the clinic security camera. "What about this woman? Lila Voss. She was your courier sometimes, right?"
Reed nodded slowly. "Yes. She brought the money and took the finished vials. Always polite. Always smiling. But her eyes… they were cold."
Ramis stepped closer. "Did the Dream Weaver ever mention anyone else? Any other names?"
Reed hesitated, then shook his head. "She said the less I knew, the safer I would be. She only cared about one thing — making sure the clients went peacefully. No pain, just… sweet dreams."
Marcus exchanged a look with Ramis. The room felt heavier.
Later, when Reed was taken back to holding, Marcus pulled Ramis aside in the hallway.
"He's scared," Marcus said quietly. "Not just of us. He's scared of her. Whoever this Dream Weaver is, she has real power."
Ramis rubbed the back of his neck. "She knew my name, Dad. On the phone. She called me 'the captain's son.' How many people outside this department even know I'm working this case?"
Marcus frowned. "Not many. We need to be careful who we talk to from now on."
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of phone records, client lists, and background checks. By evening, they had connected three more deaths to Elysium-9 — all wealthy, all stressed, all found smiling in their expensive apartments.
Ramis was reviewing one of the files when his phone buzzed. It was Sophia again.
Sophia: Hey. Just finished a long shift. You still alive over there? How did the rest of your day go?
He stared at the message for a few seconds before replying.
Ramis: Still breathing. Long day. Reed talked a lot. How was your shift?
Sophia: Exhausting but okay. One patient kept asking if I was single. Made me laugh. Want to talk about your day? Sometimes saying it out loud helps.
Ramis leaned back in his chair. Part of him wanted to keep the conversation light. Another part felt the strange pull again.
Ramis: Maybe later. Right now everything feels tangled. We're chasing someone who seems to know every move we make.
Sophia: That sounds scary. Like she's always one step ahead. You think she has someone on the inside?
Ramis paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The question felt a little too sharp.
Ramis: Possibly, but we're being careful. Well, how do you know so much about this kind of thing anyway?
Sophia: I work in the ER. I see people at their lowest. Sometimes they talk about wanting to disappear peacefully. It makes you think. Anyway, don't stay up too late. Your knee needs rest. And your mind too.
Ramis: Thanks. I'll try.
He put the phone down, but the conversation stayed with him. Sophia was easy to talk to. Too easy, maybe.
At 8:30 PM, Marcus walked over and dropped a new file on Ramis's desk.
"Another one," he said grimly. "Just came in. A 52-year-old banker named Thomas Hale. Found dead in his penthouse an hour ago. Same smile with same white card under his hand."
Ramis opened the file. The photo showed the man sitting peacefully in his chair, eyes open, lips curved in that haunting smile.
"Note says: 'Three dreams tonight. The Sandman is generous.'"
Marcus sighed. "She's speeding up. Reed is in custody, Lila is in the hospital, Crowe is locked up — and she's still delivering."
Ramis felt a chill. "She doesn't need them anymore. She can do it herself now."
They spent the next two hours at the new crime scene. The penthouse was luxurious — floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive art on the walls. Thomas Hale sat exactly like the others, hands resting neatly, looking almost happy.
While the forensic team worked, Ramis walked slowly around the apartment. On the kitchen counter, he noticed a small white coffee cup with faint lipstick on the rim. He pointed it out to Ruiz.
"Someone was here recently," Ramis said. "Not the maid. This lipstick is fresh."
Ruiz bagged it. "We'll test it for DNA."
As they were leaving the building, Ramis's phone rang. Unknown number.
He answered cautiously. "Walker."
The same smooth, calm female voice spoke.
"You're getting closer, Ramis. I like that. Most men bore me so quickly."
Ramis stopped in the lobby, heart beating faster. "Who are you?"
A soft laugh. "Someone who understands tired souls. Thomas was so exhausted. He thanked me before he slept. Would you like to know what I told him?"
Ramis gripped the phone tighter. "Stop this. We will find you."
"Oh, I hope so," she whispered. "The game is more fun when both sides are playing. Sweet dreams, clever boy."
The line went dead.
Marcus walked up, seeing the look on Ramis's face. "Her again?"
Ramis nodded. "She's enjoying this."
Marcus placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "We'll get her. Go home and rest. That's an order. Your mom already texted me twice asking if you ate dinner."
Ramis gave a tired smile. "Tell her I'll eat something on the way."
He left the building and drove through the quiet streets of Eldridge City. The rain had started again, soft and steady.
When he got back to his apartment, he heated up some leftover food and sat at the small table. His phone buzzed once more.
Sophia: Hope you're resting. If you need to talk tonight, I'm awake. No judgment.
Ramis looked at the message for a long time. He typed a short reply:
Ramis: Thanks. Maybe tomorrow. Getting some sleep now.
He put the phone down and stared at the dark window. The city lights blurred behind the raindrops.
Somewhere out there, the Dream Weaver was still moving. Still choosing who would smile next.
And Ramis couldn't shake the feeling that she was closer than he realized.