The world felt heavy, a suffocating weight on my shoulders. Most people liked me, though I was nothing special—just Isabella Rayne Lambert, 36, a mom in Ossineke, Michigan. We were a normal family, save for our 'gifts'—the ability to sense spirits, feel future events, and touch the unseen. Today, though, was different. My MS was kicking, the kids were bickering, and the dogs ran wild. And then there was this feeling, electrifying and terrifying, like something monumental was about to shatter everything.

At 1 PM, with the house as calm as it ever got, I sat in my rocking chair, trying to decipher the overwhelming sensation. My skin burned, I felt like I'd been hit by three trucks, and a silent timer counted down in my head. Fear coiled in my gut; people were in danger. Not 'could be,' but 'are.' I didn't know what I'd be fighting, but the urgency was a physical ache. Just then, Robby, my husband, emerged from the shower, and Peggy and Jake arrived, followed by Red and Sal. Normalcy, for a moment.

But the facade crumbled as Peggy sat across from me. "Everything inside me is telling me something bad is going to happen," I blurted, "something that will change life forever." The dread was palpable, a chilling omen in the familiar comfort of our living room. Red, with her own gifts, sensed it too. The time for denial was over. It was time to figure it out.