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"Who's coming?" I asked, stroking her back. "Sierra, you're safe here. Nothing gets into my realm without my permission."

She shook her head violently, her words tumbling out in barely coherent fragments. "Shadows... talking shadows... everything dead... the bed was destroyed... centuries... they said soon... they're coming..."

The bed dipped as Callum awoke, his pale green eyes taking in the scene with instant comprehension. My half-brother might be irritating as hell, but his connection to Sierra was undeniable. He slid closer, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder.

"What shadows, little flower?" he asked, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard it.

Sierra just shook her head again, burying her face against my chest. I met Callum's eyes over her head, seeing my own concern mirrored there.

"Where's Archer?" I asked, suddenly aware we were missing one of our quartet.

"Here." The voice came from the doorway. Archer stood there, daggers already in hand, his ice-blue eyes scanning the room for threats. When he found none, he sheathed one blade and approached the bed cautiously. "What happened?"

"Nightmare," Callum said, but his tone suggested he thought it might be more.

So did I. This wasn't just a bad dream. Sierra's terror was too visceral, too complete. And there was something else. A faint scent clinging to her that didn't belong. Something old and wrong, like the musty decay of a tomb sealed for millennia.

"It was real," Sierra sobbed, confirming my suspicions. "It was real. The realm was dead. Everything was dead. And theywere there, the shadows. They spoke to me. They said... they said I'd be theirs."

A chill ran down my spine, one that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Very few things could make me, Lord of the Underworld, feel actual fear. But the raw terror in Sierra's voice, the certainty with which she spoke, awakened something primal in me.

"Take a breath," I instructed, cupping her face in my hands. Her skin was still so cold. "Breathe with me."

I demonstrated, drawing in a slow, deep breath. After a moment, she tried to match me, though her breath hitched and caught on lingering sobs.

"Again," I said.

Callum had moved to her other side, his hand rubbing gentle circles on her back. Archer perched at the foot of the bed, still vigilant, his remaining dagger twirling absently between his fingers, a nervous tic that was as familiar to him as breathing.

Gradually, Sierra's breathing steadied, though the fear never left her eyes.

"That's it," I encouraged. "Now, tell us what happened. Everything you remember."

She swallowed hard, her gaze darting between the three of us as if ensuring we were really there. "I was in a dead place. Not the underworld—" she glanced at me apologetically, "—but somewhere else. There was no color. Everything was just... absence. The grass crumbled under my feet. And I found... I found Callum's bed, but it was ancient, destroyed, like it had been abandoned for centuries."

Callum stiffened beside her, his fingers momentarily stilling on her back.

"There were sounds," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Terrible sounds. And then shadows began to gather. But not normal shadows. They moved wrong. They spoke.They... they formed a shape, like a person but not. Too many limbs. It said I would be theirs. That all of us would be theirs. That the bond was weak and couldn't protect us."

Her voice broke on the last word, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "It called that place 'the between.' Said it was where all things end."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. I exchanged glances with Callum and Archer, seeing my own unease reflected in their expressions. None of us had heard of such a place, yet the specificity of her description was troubling.

"Could it have been just a dream?" Callum asked, though he sounded doubtful. "The claiming ritual was intense. Perhaps your mind was processing?—"

"It wasn't a dream," Sierra cut him off, her voice suddenly firm despite her tears. "I know the difference. This was real. I was there. And those... things... were real too."

I believed her. In my long existence, I'd encountered enough supernatural phenomena to know when something crossed the boundary between nightmare and visitation. And the wrongness lingering in her scent was proof enough for me.

"Perhaps if I..." Archer began, then hesitated. He looked at Sierra. "With your permission, I could look. See what you saw."

Sierra hesitated, then nodded shakily. "Please. Maybe you'll understand what it was."

Archer moved closer, setting aside his remaining dagger. He placed his hands gently on either side of Sierra's head, his fingers threading through her silver hair. "This won't hurt," he promised. "Just relax and let the memory come forward."

Sierra closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. Archer's own eyes fell shut, his brow furrowing in concentration. The room grew heavy with power, not my own dark energy, nor Callum's fae magic, but something else. Something lighter, almostluminescent. A remnant of Archer's angelic heritage that he rarely displayed.

For several long moments, they remained frozen like that, a tableau of shared consciousness. Then Archer's eyes flew open, a strangled gasp escaping his throat as he jerked back, nearly tumbling from the bed.