The Charcoal Clue

The bizarre merging of the dream geography persisted. This time, Mateo was standing on what seemed to be the same rough cobblestones as his street, but instead of the crash of waves, the faint hum of faraway traffic filled the air. The sky above was the hazy, washed-out cyan he had seen in Seraphina's dreamscapes, rather than the well-known Portuguese blue. In the midst of the eerie smell of salt and ancient stone, she was sitting on the low wall that typically surrounded Dona Elvira's grocery store, looking out of place in silk pajamas.

She appeared distracted as she repeatedly turned a little thing in her hands. With his artist's eye instinctively recording details, Mateo drew closer. The item was a little charm or keychain in the shape of a stylized cat curled into an incomplete circle, crafted from a dark, swirling resin. The fact that one ear was marginally smaller than the other was a little imperfection that somehow added intrigue. It had the definite feel of something handmade rather than mass-produced.

"New?" he said, pointing to it. Tonight, the dream communication became more firm, and his voice sounded clearer.

Seraphina was startled out of her reverie and glanced up. "Oh. Yes. Last week, I discovered it at this small artisan store. It was strange, but I enjoyed it. For a moment, she held it up. "The maker claimed to use recycled materials." She dismissed it and placed it into the pocket of her pajama bottoms. "This place feels weird tonight, doesn't it? similar to radio static.

Mateo nodded, fully comprehending the emotion. For a while more, they talked incoherently about Mateo's annoyance with a leaking pipe that his family couldn't afford to replace right away and Seraphina's anxiety over an impending performance. As is common with dream talks, the session veered off topic, addressing fears rather than solutions and finding comfort in the shared, unachievable space rather than solutions. They forgot about the odd cat charm.

He gasped as he woke up, vividly picturing the whirling resin cat. The sensation of the dream persisted, including Seraphina's subdued anxiety and the peculiar blending of their two realities. For a minute, he laid there mentally sketching the charm's outline. He sat at his scarred desk later that morning and drew it from memory before the crushing regularity of the café took him. The cat's back curve is somewhat flattened, its ears are uneven, and its black pattern swirls. He didn't know why; maybe it was just the urge of an artist to document a detail. Thinking about the lengthy shift ahead, he just labeled it "S.'s cat charm" and placed the page into his main sketchbook.

Seraphina was negotiating the meticulously planned pandemonium of a product launch event thousands of miles away. This time, she was promoting a high-end technological device rather than her scent. Her smile seemed to be pasted on as cameras flashed and microphones were gently but firmly pushed in her direction. That morning, Janice had attached the resin cat charm to Seraphina's fashionable jacket's zipper pull. "Sera, a little personality. relatable eccentricity. The focus groups adored it.

Seraphina hadn't raised an objection. It was modest and inconspicuous, and it was tiring to argue with Janice about trivial things. She echoed the main brand messaging that the PR team had instilled in her, posed for selfies with approved influencers, and answered inquiries automatically. She saw several photographers focusing on the charm, probably in response to Janice's subliminal clues. Another aspect of her life—even a tiny, individualized item—that has been made into a commodity for the sake of the brand's narrative. A familiar sensation of tired resignation washed over her.

Mateo had a terrible shift back in Portugal. The café had been overrun by a bus full of rowdy tourists who were moaning about the costs, demanding difficult orders, and leaving pitiful tips. He was exhausted and had a slight burnt coffee odor when he eventually arrived home late. Before going to bed, he grabbed his phone and scrolled aimlessly for a few minutes after taking a shower and eating the plate of food his mother had left for him.

Because of the disturbing curiosity the dreams had sowed, he developed the practice of automatically checking a few international entertainment news websites. He froze after scrolling past scandal and Hollywood celebrity news. An image slideshow from a Los Angeles tech launch event. There she was. Seraphina. Holding the shiny new device, he smiled his professionally bright smile. His gaze swept over her attire before settling on a tiny, black object fastened to the zipper of her jacket.

He gasped for air. His fingers were awkward on the little screen as he zoomed in.

It isn't possible.

However, it was. Clearly. The dark resin whirling. The curled cat form, stylized. He had drawn the exact, marginally smaller left ear that morning.

Time paused. The next room was filled with the noises of his family settling in. It was the charm, not only a comparable one. Hours before Seraphina was pictured wearing it across the Atlantic Ocean, he had dreamed about the particular, odd, and imperfect item he had seen in her palm.

Feeling stressed? Imagination? Is it a coincidence? This was beyond the scope of those words. Heart thumping, he clambered out of bed and fumbled for his sketchbook. He turned it over to the "S.'s cat charm" page. He held the drawing next to the phone screen. The same.

A wave of coldness swept over him, then a surge of vertigo. It was authentic. The link, the dreams, Seraphina—all of it seemed genuine, somehow, inexplicably. He wasn't imagining the shared space. It was a bridge. The ramifications were thrilling, terrible, and completely transformative. The rational reasoning process was interrupted. This was evidence, drawn in charcoal, strange and indisputable.

Seraphina had a restless night's sleep. The launch event's lingering fakery persisted. She felt restless as she slipped into the dreamscape. Once more, she found herself standing on the stone jetty with Mateo at her side, but this time he was just gazing out at the dark, shimmering dream-water rather than repairing nets.

His face was serious as he turned to face her. His voice was soft but distinct as he replied, "The cat charm." "From your jacket today. I witnessed it. After pausing, he continued, "I drew it this morning," his words bearing a great deal of weight in the peculiar acoustics of the dream. After our last conversation.

Seraphina became completely still. She recalled the charm that Janice had attached. She recalled that it was the subject of the photographers. In their last dream, she recalled showing it to Mateo. And now he was telling her that he had drawn it previously and had seen it when she was awake?

Her mind's well built walls of reason collapsed. This was too extreme for coincidence. Such detailed, shared features across continents and states of awareness could not be manifested by stress. It went against every logical theory that her controlled society relied on. However, the silent assurance in Mateo's dream eyes, the recollection of drawing the charm herself (figuratively, in her head) after discovering it, the picture opportunities, his drawing—all of these things came together with unquestionable, horrifying clarity.

This bond, this impossibility of sharing specifics and events, was genuine.

Her heart pounded with a confusing mixture of terror and wonder rather than anxiety when she woke up before daybreak. She unclipped the resin charm from its fastening and placed it on her bedside table. Beyond its strange look, it seemed to throb with a meaning. The world seemed to be skewed. The dreams were a phenomena rather than a symptom or a means of escape. And somehow, mysteriously, the quiet boy with the fingers stained with charcoal, the one who noticed minutiae like mismatched ears, was involved. The question now was not if this was real, but rather what it meant and what she might do, if anything, about it.