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I couldn’t have cared less. All I wanted was for him to let me go. I hurled myself against the ramparts of my own mind, my consciousness in anguish, teetering on the brink.

And then I felt him turn. Not to withdraw, but to glance over at a small, secret recess I had buried deep.

No, I screamed silently. You cannot have that.

He pushed past me as if I were nothing.

I sensed astonishment as he lifted the curtain and peered inside.

Frantically, I pushed against the chains constricting me, only to feel them tighten once again, squeezing around me like a ruthless serpent.

My father was unsettled. A chord had been struck deep within him, shaking the foundations of his composure.

I launched myself against him as he balanced on the edge of something very much like fear. I was a desperate guardian, futilely trying to seal the breach before he could fully comprehend the depth of what he had seen.

But it was too late. The tide surged over me, pulling me down, chains and all, as the very fabric of all I held dear was swept asunder.

CHAPTER 15 - MORGAN

I woke up gasping like a woman who had been washed ashore on a beach after a tempest.

Guinevere stood over me, her face drawn and pale.

Letting out a breath, she released me—dropping an arm I hadn’t even realized she’d been holding—and stepped back from the bed.

Behind her stood Draven.

“What happened?” he demanded. “Morgan, where did you go? What did you see?”

I sat up slowly, feeling groggy and weak, then looked at Guinevere without answering. “What did you do?”

“I got you out,” she said simply. “You were trapped.”

Draven shook his head. “That’s an understatement. You were dying, Morgan.”

“Dying?” I tried to take stock of myself. My body was trembling but whole. “I highly doubt that.” I tried to smile at him, but he wouldn’t return it.

“You were gasping for air. Your eyes were open but you couldn’t see me. You wouldn’t answer. I couldn’t wake you.”

I caught the edge of fear in his voice and understood.

“Like Kaye,” I said softly. “You thought it was going to be like Kaye.”

He said nothing.

“It was not the same thing,” Guinevere said, turning towards Draven and putting a hand briefly on his arm. “But she was very weak. You did the right thing.”

“Could I really...” I cleared my throat. “Could I really have died, Guinevere? In there?”

Somehow I knew she already understood where I had been.

“You are drained, are you not? He did that.” She looked back at me steadily from beneath long, dark lashes.

“He?” My voice was sharp. “I didn’t mention a ‘he.’”

“Your father was there in your dream, was he not?”

I stared at her. My desire for the wisdom and knowledge she might possess at war with my reluctance to trust her, to share more than I had to—for all our sakes.