Page 13

Dahlia

The rain had tapered to a drizzle outside, just enough to tap at the windows in a rhythm you could fall asleep to. Beside me on her side of the bed, Thea was snoring like she had a personal vendetta against silence.

I shifted again, wincing as Thea kicked out in her sleep and caught me squarely in the shin. I bit back a yelp.

This wasn’t working.

The idea had been sweet—Thea bunking with me like two kids having a slumber party, staying close because the whole cursed-warlock-possible-villain-returning situation had her rattled. I’d offered. She’d grunted her agreement. We’d both thought we could make it work.

But her snoring had levels. Entire settings. Symphony movements. And her sleep habits were... active.

She turned over again with a loud sigh and flung an arm across my face like a sleepy octopus.

“Nope,” I whispered, slipping out from under her like I was escaping a bear trap. I grabbed my pillow and shuffled out the door, carefully pulling it shut behind me. The floor creaked under my steps, and I winced again, trying to tiptoe like a spy down the hallway.

I paused outside the guest room.

The couch? Tempting, but probably a death sentence for my spine. I was already halfway to being a cliché. Might as well lean in.

I turned the knob on Kieran’s door as quietly as I could.

The room was dark except for the small nightlight used for avoiding obstacles during midnight potty breaks.

Kieran was asleep on his side, facing the door.

One arm curled under his head, the other draped lazily across the blanket.

And next to him, of course—Sunny, curled up like a smug orange comma against Kieran’s chest. Traitor.

I hesitated in the doorway. It felt a little weird, just standing there. But the ache in my lower back was already warning me what would happen if I laid on the couch. So I crept inside.

Kieran stirred slightly when the mattress dipped, one eye cracking open. “What are you doing, Flower?”

“Thea’s snoring like a chainsaw,” I whispered. “And she kicked me. Repeatedly.”

A sleepy grunt. “How awful.”

I slid under the covers as quietly as I could. “If it’s weird, I can leave. I just... my couch isn’t the most sleep-friendly.”

He blinked at me, then let out a slow sigh. “Stay. Just don’t steal the blanket.”

“Deal,” I said, settling in. “But I make no promises about Sunny. He might trade sides again.”

As if on cue, Sunny stretched and promptly draped himself over Kieran’s hip, purring loud enough to vibrate the bed.

Kieran mumbled something that sounded like “Feline menace,” but didn’t move.

I lay there for a moment, eyes adjusting to the dark, the weight of the day finally settling over me in a way that didn’t feel crushing for once. The bed was warm. Kieran smelled like honey soap and old books. And despite everything—the curse, the mystery, the potential doom—I felt... okay.

Safe.

His breathing slowed beside me, soft and even. I turned slightly, just enough that our legs brushed under the covers. He didn’t pull away.

And somewhere down the hall, Thea snored into a pillow like a storm on the horizon.

It started with a sound.

Not loud—just sharp enough to pierce the warm silence of the room. A broken breath. A low, guttural murmur.

I blinked awake in the dark, momentarily disoriented. It took me a second to remember where I was—Kieran’s room. The guest bed. A violent and snoring Thea had driven me to abandon my own space, and Kieran, in an uncharacteristic moment of gentleness, had let me stay.

Now, beside me, his body was tense. He’d shifted onto his back, jaw tight, hands clenched into the sheets. His brow furrowed and twitched like he was fighting something I couldn’t see.

“Kieran,” I whispered, scooting closer, propped up on my side. “Hey…”

He jerked slightly, a strangled sound escaping him. One of his arms lashed upward, instinctively defensive—and I flinched backwards. But he didn’t strike. His hand hovered, shaking, fingers curling inward like they remembered something they never wanted to touch again.

“No,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep and something darker. “Don’t—don’t do this. Calliope—Silas, don’t—”

My heart dropped.

“Kieran.” I placed a hand gently on his chest, firm enough to ground him. “Kieran, wake up.”

He gasped—sharp, like surfacing from too deep underwater—and bolted upright, panting, wild-eyed.

Sunny skittered off the bed like someone set his tail on fire.

Moonlight caught the sweat along Kieran’s temples, his breath hitching as he blinked and looked around rapidly, trying to piece together where he was.

“Hey,” I said softly, sitting up beside him. “You’re okay. You’re safe. It was just a dream.”

He stared straight ahead for a long moment, chest heaving, then let out a long, shuddering breath and rubbed his face with both hands. “Apologies,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough. “I’m not… I haven’t gotten used to dreaming again.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, resting my hand on his arm, “you’re out of practice. You’ve only slept twice in two hundred years.”

He let out a bitter half-laugh. “That’s generous. More like one and a half.”

I glanced at the digital alarm clock next to the bed, and it read 3:15 am.

I didn’t say anything—just moved a little closer, leaning my shoulder against his.

I could feel the tension still coiled in him, all that centuries-old pain lodged beneath the skin.

Not just from the nightmare, but from memory itself.

The kind of grief that wakes you up screaming because it never learned how to fade.

“What was it?” I asked gently, though I already had a guess.

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared at his hands like they didn’t belong to him.

“I saw them,” he said eventually, voice quiet. “The night it happened. The circle. The blood. Silas standing outside it, watching. Her face… she lied to me. I knew it, and I still let it happen.”

I swallowed hard. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“I was blinded,” he said. “And because of that, everyone else paid the price.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was weighted. Honest. I didn’t try to fill it. Just shifted, carefully, until I could rest my head on his shoulder.

“You’re not there anymore,” I said softly. “You’re here. In this house. With… people. Me. Thea. Even Sunny, somehow.”

He gave a tired huff, like he wasn’t quite ready to believe that counted.

But then he leaned his head just slightly against mine.

And in the dark, under the faded quilt and the watchful silence of the night, he whispered, “Thank you, Flower.”

I squeezed his hand, steady and sure. “Go back to sleep, Kieran. I’ve got you.”

I lay still, my hand still resting over his heart. His skin was warm, heartbeat steady. But there was something else, something electric in the air between us.

Not tension. Not fear. Something deeper.

When I closed my eyes, I could almost see it—like roots threading between us, glowing under the skin. The same way the locket pulsed. The same way my bones sometimes ached before a storm.

It didn’t scare me.

It felt like recognition.