The room feels impossibly quiet as I crawl around limbs and blankets, careful not to wake anyone else.
The tile’s cool under my feet as I shuffle into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. The tiny click of the latch sounds too loud in the stillness, then I flick on the light. I pee, trying not to think too hard about the lingering adrenaline still humming in my veins. When I’m done, I wash my hands and glance up.
The mirror catches me off guard.
My hair’s a wild halo of curls, cheeks flushed from sleep, eyes still wide and glassy from the dream. But it’s the fresh mark at the juncture of my shoulder that draws me in.
Knox’s mark.
I turn slightly, letting the light hit it. The edges are pink, the skin still a little tender, but it’s beautiful. A perfect crescent of faint silver scar tissue, shimmering just above my collarbone.
It looksgood.
Better than the mangled mark on the other side of my neck or the old faded ones under my ear—those marks are ghosts, pale reminders of a bond that never really took. This one feels…alive. Like it belongs there.
I trace it gently with my fingertips, heat blooming beneath my touch.
“Pretty,” I whisper to my reflection as warmth in my chest spreads, soft and slow, until something catches on the edges of it. A flicker. A tremor.
The precious emotion twists in on itself—subtle at first, like a shadow creeping under the door. My hand drops from my neck as the fuzzy feeling fades completely, turning heavy and sharp.
Knox?
I can’t tell what he’s feeling. It’s all muffled in my head.
He must be having a bad dream. Maybe he felt my dream, and that made him have a nightmare too. That can happen. Right?
The sharp emotion flares again—hot, jagged—dread cutting straight down my spine. Then the air shifts.
It’s subtle, but the tiny hairs on my arms lift, my heart thudding in my chest. Suddenly, I canfeeleyes on me. I know it’s just my imagination. No one is watching me, but it feels so real it steals the air from my lungs.
No one’s here. Iknowthat.
Still, my body doesn’t believe it.
The bathroom feels too small, the light too harsh. I flick it off, and the darkness makes it worse. My pulse spikes. I spin, half-expecting to see someone standing in the shower. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of the house.
I can’t stand it another second.
I shove the bathroom door open and bolt down the hall, bare feet slapping against the hard floor. The fear doesn’t ease until I’m climbing back into the nest, crawling under Tadeo’s weight. His body’s solid, warm, and heavy against mine, his scent wrapping around me like armor.
Only then do I breathe.
My heart’s still racing, but the moment his arm falls acrossmy waist, it starts to slow. My breath is finally starting to even out when I feel it again. Fierce anger and frustration burn together in the back of my mind. But this time it’s sharp and clear. Not the vague haze of a dream, but wide-awake rage.
I turn my head, peering across the nest at Knox. He’s only a few feet away, body stretched out, his broad chest rising and falling steadily. Eyes closed. Perfectly still.
Is he pretending to be asleep?
Narrowing my eyes, I stare really hard at Knox’s face, taking in every line and feature—his long nose, the fuzzy line of his beard, the clean scar through one eyebrow, and his long hair fanning across the mattress. He really does look dead-asleep.
I’m being stupid.
Of course, he’s really asleep.
I got spooked after my dream. That’s all.
“Go to sleep,” I whisper to myself as I snuggle deeper into Tadeo’s arms.I’m safe, I silently remind myself.Everything is fine.
