Page 121 of Whisper of Nightmares

Something about the upper floor strikes her as familiar.

She runs to the edge of the landing and peers over the bannister. There is the entryway into the foyer. The front door. The closet. It might be covered in bones and hissing snakes, but now that she’s seeing the shape beneath the nightmare, she cannot believe she didn’t realize it before.

This is Thorfell Manor, or at least some dream version of it.

It’s Dagfinn’s home.

And if her theory is right—if Ash and her husband are one and the same—then there is only one place left to look.

Euphemia races back across the upper landing, grabs his hand and starts pulling him down the corridors.

“I just thought of one more place we haven’t checked yet.”

Chapter 23

Remember

“Why are you dragging me deeper into Náströnd?”

“Because we have been everywhere else in Helheim,” Euphemia replies cheerfully. “Might as well take a look up here, no?”

His skull cocks to one side. “So you do have a death wish.” With a sigh, Ash gestures down the hall. “Lead the way, Euphemia.”

A comfortable silence settles over them as they make their way through the halls Euphemia has started to call home.

She keeps sneaking glances at him, searching him for some sign of recognition. As usual, the skull face of his makes him difficult to read.

Catching her staring, Ash breaks the silence. “You do realize the one problem with your death plan?”

Humor edges his voice, though Euphemia can hear the worry beneath it.

“I do not have a death plan,” she retorts, unable to hide her grin. “But please, by all means, tell me the flaw in mine.”

He catches her hand, halting them both. “If I find what I’ve been looking for in this place…” His voice falters. “It will mean something horrible. Something neither of us will want to know.”

It takes her a moment to understand what he’s worried about.

“Because this is Náströnd?”

His skull dips in a single nod.

She laughs, more to settle his nerves than anything.

“I’m not convinced this is Náströnd,” she says innocently. “I mean look at this place.”

In one sweeping motion, Euphemia gestures to the darkened corridors, draped in cobwebs instead of snakes. The floors covered in faded, tattered rugs instead of bones and papery skin.

She hopes it’s enough to make him question what he thinks he knows. To make him wonder if this place is truly Náströnd at all.

It seems to work because he starts walking again, his eyes scanning the walls as if seeing them from a new perspective.

Together, they meander through the quiet, dilapidated halls of this dream version of Thorfell Manor. With every step, Euphemia’s hope churns into something darker.

What if she’s wrong?

What if Ash isn’t Dagfinn?

Or worse—what if this really is nothing more than a dream, and her mind has spun an elaborate, impossible story from grief and desperation until she has mistaken it for truth?