The street was empty. Not a car, not a breeze—just the hum of the single streetlamp at the corner of Main and Second. Bob had been asleep when Petunia’s growl woke him. Low. Certain. The kind of sound she only made when something was wrong. They found Johnny Maverick standing in the middle of the asphalt, barefoot, guitar hanging from one hand like he’d forgotten he was holding it. His head was tilted back, aviator sunglasses pushed up into his curly hair, eyes fixed on a patch of sky between the old hardware store and the post office. Bob’s sneakers scuffed the pavement as he stopped. Petunia pressed against his leg, her fur warm and bristling. “Johnny?” Johnny didn’t look at him. Just lifted his free hand and pointed. Bob followed the line of his finger. At first, he saw nothing but stars—the usual scatter of distant light over Okanogan. Then his eyes caught it. A pale green glow, steady and soft, sitting inside a cloud like a lantern in milk. It didn’t blink. It didn’t drift. It just hung there, watching. “How long?” Bob whispered. “Twenty minutes,” Johnny said. His voice was dry, scraped clean of his usual swagger. “I was coming back from the studio. Saw it stop. Right above me.” Bob felt Petunia’s tail brush his hand. One slow wag. She wasn’t afraid. She was waiting. The light pulsed once. Slow. Deliberate. Like a heartbeat. Johnny’s hand dropped. He turned to Bob, and for the first time, Bob saw something he’d never seen in the rock star’s face: uncertainty. “I’ve seen it before,” Johnny said. “In a dream. Three nights ago. Same light. Same spot.” Bob’s breath caught. He looked back up. The light was still there. But now it seemed closer. Lower. Like it was deciding something. Petunia whined. Not in fear—in recognition. Bob reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver key Johnny had left in the guitar case two days ago. It was warm. Glowing faintly. Johnny’s eyes widened. “Where did you—” “You told me not to tell the lizard,” Bob said. “You didn’t say I couldn’t show you.” The light above them flickered. And for just a second, the key in Bob’s hand hummed in answer. Something was coming. And it wasn’t waiting for permission.