After a moment, she lay beside me as we adjusted our clothing, and stared up at the sky too. “We might be dreaming, but our consciousness is lucid, so I say it counts.”
A smile tugged at my lips, only barely. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I like you, Jamie,” she said, her voice devastatingly soft. “In the real world too. But I’m so fucking scared.”
I tightened my arm around her. “I’m scared too. Terrified, actually.”
She lifted her head to look at me. “Of what?”
“Of wanting something I can’t have. Of trusting again. Of being wrong about you.”
Jupiter gently traced the scars on my face with a feather-light touch of her fingertip. No one touched my scars. Ever. But her touch didn’t make me want to flinch away. Instead, I found myself leaning into it. I closed my eyes and let out a long breath, letting myself relax.
“I’m not Eliza. And you’re not like my old shield—not in the slightest. Maybe that’s a place to start.”
I nodded. “Maybe it is.”
The dream was beginning to fade around us, blurring as true unconsciousness pulled at us both. Jupiter’s form grew slightly translucent in my arms.
“See you in the morning?” she asked, her voice already distant.
“In the real world,” I confirmed, pressing my lips to her forehead before she disappeared completely.
11
Jupiter
The dream clungto me like a second skin. Jamie’s mouth between my thighs, the taste of him on my lips, the aching vulnerability in his vivid eyes. I pressed my palms against my face, feeling the heat in my cheeks.
What have I done?
The room was barely lit by early morning light filtering through the tower windows. My laptop lay forgotten at the foot of my bed, the Twilight menu screen still playing on a loop. I snapped it shut and swung my legs over the side of the bed.
Four thousand miles away, I could feel the Nightfall Shield stirring in my consciousness. Even with my mental walls up, there was always a thin thread connecting us, pulsing with their emotions. Right now it felt like a hot wire against my skin, as if they somehow knew what I’d done.
Guilt crashed over me with such force that I had to grip the edge of the mattress to stay upright. I’d been intimate with Jamie—dream or not, itfeltreal. We’d crossed a linethat couldn’t be uncrossed, and despite everything Nightfall had done to me, some twisted part of me felt like I’d betrayed them.
Stupid… They threw you away. They don’t own you anymore.
But the bond disagreed. It twisted painfully in my chest as I made my way to the bathroom, turning the shower on as hot as it would go. I stepped under the spray, hoping it would wash away the lingering sensations of my dream.
Instead, at the first touch of water against my skin, my legs gave out, and I sank to the tile floor, hot water streaming over me as sobs tore from my throat. I wrapped my arms around my knees, making myself as small as possible while the water pounded against my back.
“I hate you—” I cried, not sure if I was talking to the guys or myself. “I hate what you’ve done to me.”
I missed them so much it physically hurt. It was a constant ache that never fully went away no matter how high I built my walls.
“Stop it,” I commanded myself out loud like a crazy person, pressing my forehead against my knees. “Just fuckingstop!”
They didn’t deserve my loyalty. They hadn’t given me the benefit of the doubt when it mattered most.
And Jamie... Jamie hadn’t done any of that. He’d been kind, respectful, and careful with my broken pieces. He deserved better than my guilt.
With maximum effort, I pushed myself to my feet, taking a deep breath as I forced the sobs to subside. I stood under the hot spray, letting it sluice away my tears along with the remnants of my dream. By the time I turned off the water, my skin was pink and tender, but I felt more in control.
Back in my bedroom, I went through the motions of my morning routine. I smoothed silky vitamin oil over my face, followed by moisturizer that smelled faintly of pears and a lightsunscreen. I worked leave-in conditioner through my damp hair before combing it straight, then braiding it loosely to keep it from tangling. Sometimes I wanted to cut it just to ease some of the hassle, but my mom would just glue it back to my head again.
Today was Saturday, and a group of students from Scorpio were heading into the village. Marcus had invited me earlier in the week, promising to show me the local pub that served “proper English cider, not that sugary American rubbish.” The normalcy of it—just hanging out with friends, exploring a new place—was exactly what I needed.
