When Rune and I finally made it back to my rooms, Oliver wasn’t there, and the rising sunlight peeking through the windows seemed duller because of it.
Sam came by later, looking as sullen as I felt. He gave me some ice packs, heating pads, and some kind of hydrating pills, then left after scolding me. He didn’t even replenish my energy like I hoped he would. Either Oliver or the general told him not to, or there was some other reason he didn’t.
Eventually, after beating myself up for what I said to Oliver, I fell asleep.
“There you are, sweetheart.”
I closed my eyes, the urgency that wouldn’t let me relax easing the slightest bit at the sound of his voice.
“Aspen.” I sighed. Heavenly Hell, I was grateful to see him.
He stood in his usual spot beneath the oak tree, his uniform hugging every inch of his muscular build. A breeze rustled through the leaves, whipping at my thick coat and pants, sprinkling debris into his brown waves.
I smiled, and he walked over, wrapping me in his arms and squeezing me tight. Breathing in his apple scent, I relaxed into his embrace, needing this—needing to feel him, to know he was alive.
“Sweetheart,” he breathed into my hair. “Two weeks is much too long for me to wait for you.” He crushed me tighter to his body, and I savored every second.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to direct the dream-walks,” I admitted.
“You don’t?” He pulled back—or tried to. But I wouldn’t let him, continuing to meld my body to his. After the fight with Oliver, I wanted comfort.
“Lucille,” he prompted gently.
Sighing, I eased up on my hold. “No. And with all my time focused on training, I never thought to ask anyone how.”
“But you’ve tried?”
I stepped out of his arms. The tightness around his eyes made my stomach sink. He doubted me.
Every day since I ended up in Hell, I’d been trying—trying to complete ten miles, to impress the general, to rank, to suffer through my power training, to read as much as I could, to be as knowledgeable as everyone else, to find a way out of Hell—all to rescue him. I wanted to scream in his face:I’ve been doing nothing but trying!
Instead, I said, “Of course.”
“What have you tried?”
He still didn’t believe me.
“I think of the person before bed and see if I’ll dream-walk to them. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.” Saying it out loud made me cringe. My words lacked confidence and determination. Itdidn’t sound like I was actively trying—it sounded like I was letting it happen, as if I wasn’t pushing myself hard enough.
Aspen’s expression confirmed my thoughts. I could almost hear him thinking: do better, be more, try harder.
“Maybe if it’s not working, then you need to try something else.”
“Like what?” I threw my hands in the air.
“Like,” he drew out, his irises flashing, “maybe it’s not the person your dream-walk seeks out. It’s something else. An answer to a question. Knowledge.”
He sounded so confident, like he knew for a fact that was how it was done. But if that was the case… how would he know that?
“Is it?” I asked, suspicious.
He shrugged, then stepped toward me with a hungry look in his eyes. I moved back.
“I don’t know. Could be. Or maybe it’s comfort.”
He did it again, and I mirrored, stumbling when my camisole vanished.
“Or need,” Aspen whispered, his voice low.
