Ramis woke up at 6:30 AM to the sound of rain tapping against his window. His body still ached from the warehouse fight, but the bruises were starting to turn yellow. He made himself a cup of black coffee and sat at the small kitchen table, staring at the growing pile of case notes he had brought home.
His phone buzzed with a message from his father.
Marcus: Morning. Another white card was found at Hale's scene with "Sandman" signature. Reed is asking to talk again this morning. Come in when you can.
Ramis replied with a simple "On my way" and finished his coffee.
When he reached the precinct, the bullpen was already active. Marcus and Ruiz were standing near Reed's interrogation room.
"Reed wants to make another deal," Marcus said. "He's scared the Dream Weaver will come after him even in custody."
They went inside together. Reed looked even more worn out than yesterday, his hands shaking as he held a cup of water.
"I'll tell you what I know," Reed said quietly, "but you have to promise protection. Real protection."
Marcus nodded. "Talk."
Reed took a deep breath. "The Sandman is the public face — the one who leaves the notes and signs the cards. But he's not the one who chooses the clients. The Dream Weaver does that. She finds them, studies their lives, decides when they're ready to 'sleep'. The Sandman just delivers the final dose and makes it theatrical."
Ramis leaned against the wall. "So they're two different people?"
"Yes," Reed answered. "The Sandman likes the show. The smiles, the notes, the drama. The Dream Weaver… she's quieter. She sees it as mercy. She believes she's helping people who have no more fight left."
Ruiz wrote everything down. "How do they work together?"
"Through Crowe mostly, he was the bridge. Now that he's locked up, I think the Dream Weaver is handling more herself. She has access to a lot — hospital records, financial reports, even therapy notes from private clinics."
Ramis felt that familiar prickle again. "Does she work in medicine?"
Reed shrugged. "I don't know for sure, but she understands drugs better than most doctors I've met. She told me once that death should feel like falling asleep after a long, hard day."
The interrogation ended twenty minutes later. Reed was taken back to holding with extra security.
Marcus turned to Ramis in the hallway. "Two people. That changes things. The Sandman is the one who enjoys the game. The Dream Weaver is the one who picks the victims. We need to find both."
Ramis nodded. "I'll go through the client list again. Look for patterns only a doctor or someone with medical access would notice."
The rest of the morning passed slowly. Ramis spent hours comparing medical histories of the victims. Most had seen therapists or visited high-end clinics in the months before they died. All of them had complained about feeling empty or exhausted.
Around 1 PM, his phone buzzed. It was Sophia.
Sophia: Hey. How's your knee holding up today? I have a short break between patients. Want to grab a quick lunch if you're free?
Ramis hesitated, then replied.
Ramis: I can do a quick one. Same café?
Sophia: Perfect. See you in 20.
He told his father he was stepping out for lunch and drove to the café. Sophia was already there, looking fresh despite her long shifts. She smiled when he sat down.
"You look a little better today," she said. "The bruises are fading."
"Yeah, slowly," Ramis replied. "Thanks for checking in yesterday. It helped."
They ordered sandwiches and coffee. Sophia took a bite of hers and looked at him curiously.
"So… did you sleep okay last night?" she asked.
"Not really," Ramis admitted. "Another body showed up. Same pattern. We're starting to see there are two people involved. One who plans it and one who enjoys the show."
Sophia nodded slowly, sipping her coffee. "Two people? That makes it even scarier. Do you think the planner is a woman? The one who called you?"
"Looks like it," Ramis said. "She calls herself the Dream Weaver. She picks who dies. The other one — the Sandman — just makes it look like a fairy tale."
Sophia set her cup down. "Interesting names. Sandman puts people to sleep… Dream Weaver chooses the dreams. Sounds almost poetic. Do you think she really believes she's helping them?"
"Maybe," Ramis said. "Reed said she sees it as mercy for tired souls. But it's still murder."
They ate in comfortable silence for a minute. Then Sophia spoke again, her voice gentle.
"You know… working in the ER, I see a lot of people who are just done. They don't say it out loud, but you can tell. They want the pain to stop. Maybe this Dream Weaver thinks she's giving them what they secretly want."
Ramis looked at her. "You sound like you almost understand her."
Sophia gave a small, sad smile. "I don't agree with killing people. But I understand feeling tired, that's all." She reached over and lightly touched his hand again. "Just don't let this case eat you alive, okay? You're smart, but even smart people need to rest."
Ramis felt the warmth of her fingers. "I'll try. Thanks, Sophia."
They talked for a few more minutes about lighter things — a funny patient story, a new movie that just came out. When it was time to leave, Sophia stood up first.
"Text me later if you want to talk more," she said. "Even if it's just to complain about your knee."
"I will," Ramis promised.
He watched her walk back toward the hospital before heading back to the precinct.
The afternoon brought more bad news. A fourth victim was discovered — a 47-year-old woman named Clara Voss, found smiling in her luxury apartment with the usual white card. No relation to Lila Voss, but the name made Ramis pause.
Marcus looked exhausted when he updated the team. "She's not slowing down. We have four bodies in four days now. The chief wants results yesterday."
Ramis spent the rest of the day going through medical records and cross-checking clinic visits. He kept thinking about Sophia's words at lunch — how she seemed to understand the Dream Weaver's thinking.
When he finally left the station that evening, the rain had turned into a light drizzle. He drove home slowly, mind turning over everything they had learned.
Two killers working together.
One who planned with cold precision.
One who enjoyed the performance.
And somewhere in the middle, a woman with warm hands and calm hazel eyes who kept texting him goodnight wishes.
Ramis parked his car and sat there for a minute, listening to the rain.
The case was getting more complicated every day.