Page 13

KAIA

I don’t move.

Can’t.

The bastard’s hand is still around my throat—not crushing, just there , holding me against that carved stone like I’m something fragile. Breakable. His eyes burn gold, wild and unrelenting, like he’s weighing the universe behind his stare.

This is it.

He’s going to kill me.

And I don’t flinch.

I won’t .

Because I’m Kaia Draven, daughter of the Order’s finest, and if I’m going down, I’m going down staring death in the goddamn eye.

But then he lets go.

Just like that.

His hand falls away, fingers ghosting over my skin as he steps back. The fury’s still in him. The power. The hunger . But something else flashes across his face—something that doesn’t belong in a creature designed to tear things apart.

Regret.

Confusion.

Maybe… mercy?

And then he’s gone. No warning. No snark. No final blow.

Just gone , like smoke on wind.

I stay frozen a minute longer, heart jackhammering in my chest. My hands tremble, my pulse still pounding like I just survived a bomb, and all I can think is, why didn’t he do it?

Why couldn’t he?

By the time I make it back to the compound, my legs are jelly and my mind’s stuck on a loop.

He could’ve killed me. He should’ve .

I’d have done it if the roles were reversed… right?

No. Maybe.

Fuck.

I sneak back through the perimeter right before the first field patrol switches shifts. Slip through the tunnels, reroute the logs, wash the ash off my skin in a too-cold shower that doesn’t erase his scent.

Then I collapse onto my bunk like someone yanked the plug out of me.

The dreams start that night.

Not nightmares. Not the usual Order-induced kill-loop bullshit.

This is different.

It’s dusk, somewhere warm. The air’s thick with the scent of moss and rain. I’m standing under a massive, gnarled tree with roots like claws and leaves like fire, and I’m not alone.

He’s there.

Elias.

Not in gear, not covered in blood or shadows, just… standing next to me. Like he belongs there. Like I do.

And the strangest thing?

I’m not scared.

I feel calm. Whole.

I reach out and wake up choking on my own breath.

It happens again the next night.

And the next.

Each dream clearer than the last. I start to feel the bark under my fingers, the warmth of his hand brushing mine. Sometimes we speak, but I never remember the words. Sometimes there’s light pouring through the branches and a melody I can’t name curling around us like mist.

Sometimes he kisses me.

And it’s not heat or lust or even the battle-fueled adrenaline of our real-life collisions.

It’s something else.

Something old.

Something terrifying.

I wake up every time soaked in sweat, fists clenched, heart racing like I’ve been running. And the worst part?

I start waiting for the dreams.

Counting down the hours ‘til sleep like a junkie chasing the next hit. Wishing he’d vanish from my head.

And fearing the moment he does.

On the fourth night, I punch a hole in my pillow and scream into it like a lunatic.

“Get out of my fucking head, you crypt-crawling, halfbreed son of a?—”

A knock at the door cuts me off.

“Kaia?” Cole’s voice, muffled. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I lie, dragging my ass off the floor. “Bad dream.”

He pauses. “You sure? You were yelling.”

“Just reliving training. You in bed or you trying to flirt through a wall?”

“Gods, I regret caring,” he mutters, then walks off.

I wait ‘til I hear his door click shut, then sink back down and stare at the ceiling.

There’s no protocol for this.

No Order guidebook entry on what to do when the enemy starts haunting your dreams and not in the ‘kill them harder’ way.

I don’t know what the hell’s happening to me.

But I’m starting to think the rules I was raised on aren’t just flawed.

They’re a fucking lie.

And I’m scared that maybe, the monster I’ve been trained to hate is the only one who’s ever seen me.