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  ?? This is the official continuation (Book Two) of The Dream of the Night Fox.If you haven’t read the first part yet, you can find the full story—both ebook and paperback—on Amazon:??

  ?? This chapter picks up right where Book One left off.Let me know your thoughts as the story unfolds!

  The sunlight felt like a warm hand gently caressing the bare skin of people on the beach. Bright colors, umbrellas in every hue, and women in bikinis wove together the perfect picture of a holiday paradise. The sand in Hawaii was soft and fine, like scattered white sea salt—or stars spilled from a dream, shimmering with a gentle glow.

  Nora scooped up a handful of sand absentmindedly. It was hot to the touch, spilling between her fingers and landing on the tops of her feet. She turned to glance at her mother, who was lying in a beach chair nearby. Elaine wore dark sunglasses that covered half her face, making her expression unreadable. Her hair draped loosely over her shoulders, as if she were soaking in every second of this carefree vacation.

  But Nora couldn’t shake the words Lucas had whispered before she left:

  "Did your mom… still remember the dream after she came back?"

  She’d brushed it off at first, thinking it was just Lucas being playful. But now… now she wasn’t so sure. Had her mother really forgotten everything? Or was she pretending?

  Who was hiding something—Lucas, or her mother?

  Suddenly, her mind flashed back to the train. That look on her mother’s face when she saw the miniature memory play out before her eyes. That strange, lingering smile just before she stepped off the train…

  A chill ran down Nora’s spine. She turned toward her mother again, and that’s when she noticed it.

  Elaine’s hands were gently resting on her stomach—and in one of them, she was holding the fox-shaped hairpin.

  Nora froze.

  Ever since their return, her mother had clearly changed. She still nagged once in a while, but her tone was softer, her attitude gentler. And these past few days in Hawaii, Elaine had been nothing short of kind—almost… too kind. She acted just like the “perfect mom” from the dream.

  So… was this the same mom? Or had the “dream mom” taken her place?

  Nora couldn’t take her eyes off that fox-shaped pin, staring at it in a daze.

  Elaine must’ve noticed. She took off her sunglasses and looked at her daughter with warm eyes. “Nora, are you zoning out? Are you hungry? Want me to get you something?”

  Nora looked up and, on a sudden impulse, asked, “Mom, do you remember the name of my math teacher from elementary school?”

  Elaine paused, then chuckled. “You mean the chubby one? Mr. Miller, right? Why do you ask all of a sudden?”

  “Oh… no reason. I just couldn’t remember.”

  Nora nodded slowly, feeling a small wave of relief—until a warning bell rang in her mind.

  Wait a second.

  She remembered clearly: her mom could never get that teacher’s name right. She always called him Milton, or Milner, or something else. How come now, after all these years, she got it right on the first try?

  Nora’s chest tightened. A strange unease crept through her.

  “Mom, I’m not feeling too well,” she said softly. “We’ve been here for three days already… Can we go home tomorrow?”

  Elaine turned to her with a smile. “Of course. I was thinking we’d head back tomorrow or the day after anyway.”

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  Nora forced a smile back, but her thoughts were already racing.

  Once she got home, she had to find Lucas. She had to get answers.

  At Lucas’s House

  The breakfast table was quiet that morning. The whole family sat in silence as they ate.

  His mother carried a stack of porcelain bowls and carefully poured lobster and potato chowder for each person. The rich smell of cream filled the air—it was Dad’s favorite.

  Dad didn’t like too much noise during meals, so the dining room was filled with nothing but the soft clinking of spoons. Lily, Lucas’s younger sister, sipped her soup gently, mimicking the adults like a little lady.

  Lucas glanced up at his mom across the table and spoke. “Mom, I’ve been thinking… I want more time to draw. Can we cancel my tennis lessons? I’d like to keep basketball, though.”

  His mom instinctively looked toward his dad, clearly waiting for his opinion.

  Without looking up, his dad said in a neutral tone, “If you like drawing, then switch tennis for art classes.”

  Then he turned to his wife. “Find him a good art program tomorrow and sign him up.”

  Lucas quickly added, “No, Dad. I don’t want to take a class. I’d rather practice on my own.”

  That made his dad stop mid-scoop. He turned to Lucas, not angry, but with that unmistakable authority in his voice.

  “Whatever you choose to do in life, you need proper training. A teacher helps you avoid mistakes. Got it?”

  Lucas looked him in the eye. His voice was calm, but firm.

  “I’ve taken art classes before. Everyone draws the same things—landscapes, apples, jars. Same pace. Same mindset. That’s not learning for me… that’s limiting.”

  “I’m not against learning. I just want to set my own schedule, use online resources, try it my way. And if I realize it’s not working, I’ll sign up for lessons later. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

  His dad’s brows, which had started to furrow, gradually eased. He gave a slight nod and said quietly:

  “It’s your decision.”

  Lucas let out a small breath of relief, tension melting from his shoulders.

  Lily, still nibbling on her spoon, stared at her brother in awe. Her eyes practically said: You actually won? She gave him a tiny thumbs-up.

  Everyone knew Lucas used to stay quiet around his dad. Even when he disagreed, he rarely spoke up—let alone argued. But today, he stood his ground and earned respect.

  Only Lucas knew the truth.

  His courage didn’t come from nowhere. It came from the dream.

  He had faced his strict father there, been broken and rebuilt, made a pact with a fox, and seen the cracks in his family from the inside out. He’d learned how emotions rose and fell—and how to control them.

  That moment, he understood:

  To control your emotions is to grow.To control your choices is to be free.

  He stood up, cleared his dishes, and headed to his room.

  Inside his drawer, his favorite paintbrush waited for him.

  He was ready to create a new world of his own.

  Lucas spread out a blank sheet of paper. He ran his fingers across its surface, then paused.

  He thought of the picture he gave Nora—half fox, half clown. His heart skipped a beat.

  “Why did I even draw that?”

  He couldn’t recall doing it willingly. He wasn’t the type to gift someone a nightmare.

  That image wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t gentle. It was eerie, unsettling—as if someone else had drawn it through his hand.

  Am I losing my mind? he whispered.

  He glanced at his paintbrush. Its warm wood texture was familiar, the silver vine engraving still winding around the end like a symbol from a forgotten spell.

  “If I were to draw something for Nora,” he thought aloud, “it should be her portrait. Or something peaceful. Something beautiful.”

  He pictured it in his mind, picked up the brush, and took a deep breath.

  Her smile appeared behind his eyes.

  He began to draw.

  The strokes flowed effortlessly. The room fell silent, as if even time itself paused to watch. Only the soft scratch of brush on paper and the rhythm of his breathing filled the space.

  Soon, an image came to life:

  A girl wearing a straw hat stood at the end of a cobbled path, facing away from the viewer. She looked out toward the stars and the ocean. The colors were soft, the mood serene. A full moon hung above her, casting a warm glow around her shoulders.

  Lucas reached the final stroke—outlining the moon—and gently lifted his brush, preparing to sign his name.

  That’s when it happened.

  A blotch beneath the moon began to spread—first gray, then dark red, like a bruise blooming on the paper.

  A fox’s tail.

  Sharp, unmistakable. Upright under the moonlight like a ghost’s whisper.

  “What the hell…?” Lucas’s eyes widened.

  He quickly checked his brush. The tip was warm. The silver vines along its shaft shimmered faintly, tiny pulses of light running through them—like it was picking up a signal from something unseen.

  A wave of dizziness hit him.

  His eyelids felt like warm hands pressing down.

  Sleepiness swelled.

  He tried to stand, but his limbs grew heavy, like gravity was doubling.

  “Not again… Is this another dream?”

  He couldn’t fight it.

  The brush slipped from his fingers. He collapsed onto the bed.

  The last thing he saw was the fox’s tail… before darkness swallowed him whole.