The forest floor is damp under Bob's knees. The device—no bigger than a fist, smooth as river stone—thrums in his palm. It found him in the hollow of an old cottonwood, wrapped in roots like a secret waiting to be pulled. Now it glows, pulsing with a soft amber light that casts long shadows through the pines. Petunia's ears flatten. A low whine escapes her throat, and she presses her heavy body against Bob's side. He feels the vibration travel up his arm, into his chest, settling somewhere behind his ribs. It's not a sound, not exactly. It's a pressure. A frequency. 'That's it.' The voice comes from the treeline. Bob's head snaps up. Johnny Maverick steps into the clearing, guitar case in hand. His aviator sunglasses catch the glow, turning them into twin mirrors. He sets the case down, flips the latches, and swings it open. Inside, nestled in worn velvet, is a device identical to Bob's. Already glowing. Already humming. 'That's the same frequency I've been hearing in my dreams,' Johnny says. He kneels, pulls out the device. The two units synchronize—a harmonic shift that makes Petunia whine louder. The air between them shimmers, just barely, like heat off asphalt. Bob looks from Johnny's face to the device in his own hand. 'You dreamed about this?' Johnny nods slowly. 'For weeks. Same dream. A boy. A black dog. A light in the trees.' He meets Bob's eyes. 'I thought it was just the road. Too many late nights. But this…' He lifts his device. 'This is real.' The hum deepens. Bob feels it in his molars. Petunia's tail goes rigid. Somewhere in the dark, a branch cracks. They're not alone. Bob scrambles to his feet. 'We need to go.' Johnny snaps his case shut. 'Where?' Bob looks at the device, its glow steady as a heartbeat. 'Somewhere it wants us to be.' Petunia growls, low and constant, facing the darkness. And the darkness, for a moment, seems to growl back.