The dream was always the same.
It never started in the same place. Sometimes he was a soldier in a war-torn city. Other times, a scientist in a lab seconds from meltdown, or a child clutching a toy while the sky turned to fire. Always a different life, a different body. But it always ended the same.
The meteors fell.
The cats came.
And he failed to stop it.
Cassian Voss opened his eyes to the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the warmth of morning sun leaking through half-closed blinds. Sweat clung to his skin, as it always did after one of those dreams. He stared at the ceiling for a long while, his breath steadying, the images already blurring like paint in water.
A thump echoed down the hall.
"Logan!" Vera's voice rang out, high and furious. "You left the toothpaste cap off again, you freaking barbarian!"
"You're welcome!" Logan shouted back. "Your brush was gross, so I upgraded it."
"You what?!"
Cass groaned and sat up. White button-up shirt, wrinkled. Black slacks, slept in. He ran a hand through his tangled black hair and made a half-hearted attempt to fix it before swinging his legs off the couch.
He never made it to the bed anymore. Not unless she was in it.
The smell of over-toasted bread greeted him in the kitchen, along with the voice of the woman who had the most beautiful scowl in the world.
"Morning, hero," she said, eyes on the coffee maker. "Saved the world again?"
Cass blinked, still caught between worlds. "Not this time."
She handed him a mug without looking. It was sweet. Too sweet. Just the way he didn't like it.
He sipped it anyway.
"Kids are almost ready. Logan's got a science fair thing after school, and Vera is preparing for some kind of uprising."
Cass glanced down the hall. "Do I want to know?"
"She built a fortress last night and declared herself Supreme Empress of the Living Room. I think she's drafting a constitution."
"Nice," he said, rubbing his temple. "She'll overthrow a government before she hits puberty."
She smirked. "Probably yours."
Cass finally looked at her fully, and for a split second—just a flicker—his breath caught. There was something different in her face this morning. A sharpness in her eyes, tired but knowing. Her red hair was pulled back the same as always, her lips pursed in amusement. But something beneath the surface… flickered.
Like a ghost behind glass.
He blinked again, and it was gone.
"What?" she asked, catching his look.
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just… coffee's sweet."
"It's always sweet," she said, turning back to the stove. "You've been drinking it wrong for ten years."
"Maybe I've just been dreaming about the bitter kind."
She didn't answer.
A moment later, Logan stumbled into the kitchen with one shoe on and toothpaste in his hair.
"Do I look cool?" he asked.
Cass stared. "You look like a rejected anime protagonist."
"Perfect," Logan grinned.
Vera marched in behind him, clutching a crayon-drawn scroll. "These are the rules of the kingdom. First rule: No brothers allowed on the couch unless under direct Empress supervision."
"Why do you sound like you're leading a coup?" Cass asked.
"I'm not leading one. I am one."
He ruffled her hair. "Your reign will be short but glorious."
She puffed up with pride.
Mom ushered them both out the door a few minutes later, ushering Cass with them. "Go on. Rich will throw a fit if you're late again."
Cass raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're not just trying to kick me out so you can have the throne to yourself?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Don't tempt me. I still know where you sleep."
He paused in the doorway, coffee still in hand. She met his eyes again. For a moment, it was like looking into the past. Not hers. His.
But the thought slipped away before it could root.
"Love you," he said.
She waved it off with that same tsundere scoff she always used. "Whatever. Go be useful."
He stepped out into the crisp air, the smell of morning dew and car exhaust wrapping around him like a second skin. The city wasn't anything special—concrete towers, cracked sidewalks, traffic that roared like a living beast. But it was familiar. Grounded.
Even if he didn't always feel that way.
Cass took one last sip of his too-sweet coffee and walked toward the bus stop, unaware that in the field of red that haunted his dreams, a girl was waiting.
The repair shop was tucked between a laundromat and a boarded-up vape lounge, its flickering sign half-dead but still clinging to life like a stubborn old man refusing to retire.
Cass stepped through the glass door and was greeted by the hum of soldering irons, the faint smell of burned plastic, and the muffled sound of some retro game music playing from the back.
"Morning, sleeping beauty," Rich called from behind a stack of busted game consoles. "Tell me you didn't hit snooze five times again."
"I hit it once," Cass said. "Then accidentally hit my face on the floor."
"Progress." Rich popped his head up, goggles strapped to his forehead and a pencil behind his ear like some ancient tech wizard. "Kid's got ambition."
Cass dropped his bag and surveyed the battlefield. Phones in varying stages of disassembly lay scattered across the counter. A broken drone hung from the ceiling by its own tangled wires like some failed suicide attempt. The shop was a mess, but it was their mess.
"Got a weird one for you," Rich said, motioning him over. "Phone that turns on fine but refuses to remember its owner."
Cass raised an eyebrow. "You mean the contacts are gone?"
"No, I mean it keeps resetting its face ID. Like, every time you turn it off, it forgets what the user looks like."
Cass took the phone, turned it in his hands. The screen lit up, scanned his face—and unlocked.
He frowned.
"Uh, Rich?"
"Yeah?"
"It just unlocked for me."
Rich blinked. "Oh, hell no. That's not even the creepy part. Try reading the notes app."
Cass swiped and opened the app.
There was only one note.
Do not trust the light.
Cass stared at it. His pulse ticked up. Something about the phrase scratched at the walls of his mind like a memory from a dream he hadn't had yet.
"Did the owner leave a name?" he asked.
"Nope. Just dropped it off with a post-it that said 'fix if you can.' Real helpful."
Cass set the phone down, uneasy. "Maybe just a prank."
Rich shrugged. "Sure. Or maybe it's cursed."
Cass gave him a flat look.
Rich grinned. "Come on, it's too early for existential dread. Want me to order lunch?"
"From that place with the mystery meat dumplings?"
"They're not mystery if you don't ask."
Cass chuckled, the tension slipping off his shoulders like an old coat. "You're a menace."
They worked in silence for a while, the comfortable kind. Cass soldered a cracked circuit board. Rich pieced together a Frankenstein controller from three others. Outside, traffic buzzed, and the world carried on like it always did.
"Hey, Cass," Rich said, not looking up from his work. "You ever feel like you've done all this before?"
Cass blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know." Rich scratched his head. "Just… this. The shop. You showing up half-dead. Me pretending to be competent. It all feels like I'm stuck in a rerun."
Cass thought about the dream again. The fire. The sky breaking open. The cats.
And the girl in the field of flowers.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I get that feeling a lot."
Rich finally looked up, studying him. "You okay, man?"
Cass hesitated.
"I had a weird dream," he admitted. "Been having them for a while. Same kind of thing. Always different people. Same ending."
"End of the world?"
Cass looked at him sharply.
Rich held up his hands. "Lucky guess. You've got that 'I failed the apocalypse again' look."
Cass snorted. "Is that a real thing?"
"In this economy? Absolutely."
They both laughed.
The rest of the shift passed without incident. A regular came in with a bricked tablet. A kid tried to pay for a screen repair in Pokémon cards. Rich said no but kept the holographic Charizard.
By the time Cass was locking up, the sun was dipping low, painting the street in gold and fire. Rich lingered by the door, keys in hand.
"You heading home?"
Cass nodded. "Kids'll riot if I'm late again."
"Tell Vera I accept her sovereignty and request asylum."
"I'll pass it along."
Rich hesitated. "Hey… if the dreams start feeling too real, just… talk to someone. Me, if you want. You don't have to white-knuckle everything."
Cass nodded, grateful but already drifting. "Thanks, man."
As he turned the corner, the last rays of sunlight caught a glint of something on the sidewalk—a shattered pair of reading glasses, crushed flat. Cass paused, stared at them for a moment.
He didn't know why, but they unsettled him.
He shook it off.
Just another crack in the concrete.
Just another rerun.
The house was still and dim when Cass stepped inside. The kind of quiet that felt earned after a long day—the weight of life finally resting. Shoes by the door, jackets tossed carelessly on the hook, the muffled hum of the fridge buzzing like a low lullaby.
Logan was on the living room floor, sprawled across a minefield of toy parts and tiny tools, a model spaceship halfway assembled beside him. A soft snore escaped from under the blanket tangled around his legs. The controller to the old game console blinked quietly in rest mode.
Cass knelt and draped the rest of the blanket over him before heading down the hall.
He found Vera asleep on top of her bed, still in her Empress regalia. A red towel served as her royal cape, and her tiny plastic sword was clutched firmly to her chest as she snored with her mouth slightly open. One arm rested over a stuffed dragon, its button eyes missing but still smiling.
Cass smiled, brushing a bit of hair from her face. She stirred slightly but didn't wake.
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the orange hue of the streetlight leaking through the blinds. His wife lay curled up under the sheets, facing the window. She didn't move as he stepped in. Her breathing was soft, rhythmic. Peaceful.
Cass changed quietly, careful not to wake her. He slid beneath the covers, lying on his back with his hands over his chest. But he didn't sleep. Not yet.
He stared at the ceiling, willing the static in his head to clear.
The dreams had been getting sharper.
More vivid.
More… personal.
He closed his eyes.
And fell.
He was someone else again.
A man this time—late forties, worn down, wiry strength hidden under a thick coat. The air was dry and cold, the desert flat and endless before him. Cass could feel the man's muscles ache, his breath come in sharp bursts as he ran—clutching a small, metal briefcase to his chest like it held the last hope of the world.
Behind him, in the sky—five streaks of light descending in slow, burning arcs.
Meteors.
They always came in fives.
He reached the top of a rusted tower, wind tearing at his coat. On the platform sat an old satellite dish—repurposed, wires dangling from makeshift consoles and car batteries lashed together with duct tape and desperation.
The man slammed the case down and opened it.
A power cell. Still humming.
Cass felt his hands move automatically, muscle memory guiding the process—plugging in wires, flipping breakers, entering commands into a cracked screen. A timer started.
Thirty seconds.
He turned his eyes to the sky.
The meteors were closer now—massive and slow, like gods falling from orbit.
Twenty seconds.
He looked down. On the horizon, a thin blue shimmer wavered, stretching like a curtain across the desert—a defense field? A shield?
Ten seconds.
A shadow moved near the base of the tower.
Cass didn't see it fully—only flickers of shape and wrongness. A glimmer of too many eyes. A sound like purring filtered through static.
The man—Cass—grabbed the emergency switch.
Something was climbing the stairs.
Five seconds.
He flipped the override. A burst of energy surged through the panel. The shield on the horizon flared brighter—just for a moment—then sputtered and died.
Cass's heart sank.
There was a hiss. A sharp claw curled over the edge of the platform.
He turned—
And time stopped.
Not paused.
Stopped.
The stars froze mid-fall. The wind halted. Dust in the air stopped mid-twirl.
And in the silence, he was himself again.
Cass.
Same white shirt. Same black pants. Same blood on his sleeves.
He stood on the edge of the ruined tower, the failed machine humming gently behind him.
And from the stillness, she emerged.
A girl with tired eyes, her red hair flickering in the light like flame. No name came to him, but she felt familiar in that ache-you-forgot kind of way. She stepped across the air like it was solid, stopping just a few feet from him.
Cass tried to speak, but she shook her head.
Not yet.
Her gaze flicked toward the frozen beast clinging to the stairwell—its form twitching like a corrupted image in a glitching screen.
She looked at him again, softer now. Not with pity.
With grief.
Then, almost apologetically, she whispered, "Wake up."
The tower fell away.
The desert dissolved.
Cass sat bolt upright in bed, gasping. His shirt was soaked with sweat. The sheets tangled like restraints. He looked around. Bedroom. Streetlight glow. Soft breathing beside him.
His hands trembled.
He glanced toward the nightstand and reached out, fumbling for something to hold on to.
Then he paused.
No.
Not yet.
Instead, he sat there in the dark, trying to hold on to the memory of the dream before it, too, slipped away.
Just one more failed attempt to stop the end.