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This must be what sailors feel the first time they step into their homes after months at sea.

I push open the heavy doors and step into old world elegance—the smell of weathered tomes and the hushed whispers immediately welcoming me. I’ve never been here before—at least, not that I remember—but it feels like home.

Mindlessly, I walk around, admiring the rows of mahogany shelves, until I spot a spiral staircase tucked in the back.

My stomach knots, a flashing jab appears at the base of my neck again, and I climb the steps. A closed door meets me at the top.

The door looks new compared to the weathered beams and decor of the building—it must’ve been a recent addition.

The glass is etched with a name and a beautiful design of a hummingbird, its wings spread.

My breathing quickens, and I trace the name on the door.

The Wing of Eternal Dreams—The Rare Text Archival Floor.

My heart jolts. An avalanche of emotions flits through me—too quickly for me to name, but I’m able to identify a few.

A flare of joy followed by crushing grief.

The throbbing in my neck becomes a violent stabbing, the headache rearing its ugly side, and I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.

Everything hurts.

Sweat beads on my upper lip and I fight the urge to throw up. Slowly, I slide down to the ground and bury my face between my knees, waiting for the wave of sickness to pass.

Breathe in. Long breaths out. Repeat.

I need to talk to Dr. Riordan about these episodes at my next appointment. This can’t just be side effects. I want to know what he’s seeing on my brain scans.

Ping.

Exhaling deeply, I take out my cell phone and swipe to the home screen, noting Polaris’s email sitting on top of my inbox.

A rush of warmth suffuses me.

To:[email protected]

From:[email protected]

Subject: Haven

Good luck with your work project. You’ll do well, and before you ask me why, I’m going to throw your motto back at you.

If I believe it, who’s to say it isn’t true?

I grin, imagining a small smile on my mystery man’s face.

If it helps, there’s a good rule of thumb that works. Fake it until you make it.

No one knows you’re worried or scared. Only you do, and we’re the harshest critics of ourselves. A person wise beyond her years once told me that.

Have you tried meditation or breathing exercises? It helps with anxiety. I have family members who suffer from it, and I’ve tried to read up on the condition.

Personally, I enjoy escaping to my haven when the world is too heavy, and my mind is cluttered with negative thoughts. For me, this place is a small library with a beautiful courtyard. It’sclose to my work. I walk there when I need a break from regular life.

It always helps.

I have faith in you.