Owen had strange dreams that night. He was no stranger to nightmares; after his mom died, he didn’t have a regular dream for years. But these dreams weren’t nightmares, although they were plenty scary. They felt grounded in reality somehow, as if Owen was watching the news.
First he found himself standing in the woods at night, back at camp in the Fire Arena. He watched as the figures in the Arena gathered in the stands. With a jolt, Owen recognized the figures as himself and his friends. He went to get closer, but he was distracted by a silvery shape slipping behind a tree in front of him. It looked almost like a person, someone familiar, but that was impossible. “Hello?” Owen called out, taking a few steps towards the figure.
Brian Percival stepped out from behind the tree, beaming.
