Page 3 of Her Unending Horizon

It had been three days since I woke up frantic from the dream.

Three days since I’d bolted upright in bed, heart hammering, Seris and Kael still tangled in my head, the echo of Kael’s roar lodged somewhere behind my ribs. Three days since I’d crossed my apartment barefoot in the dark, flipped on the lamp at my drawing table, and let my hands take over before my thoughts had time to catch up.

Three days—and for the first time in longer than I could remember, the feeling hadn’t swallowed me whole.

I sat at my drawing table now, shoulders slightly hunched, the quiet weight of focus settling comfortably into my bones. The Bristol board beneath my hands was smooth and unforgiving, its surface already marked with deliberate black lines. This wasn’t sketching. This wasn’t exploration.

This was inking.

Ink was commitment. Ink didn’t care if you hesitated or second-guessed yourself. It demanded confidence or punished you with permanence. Every stroke mattered. Every breath mattered.

I dipped the nib carefully, steadied my breathing, and drew the final line along Seris’s jaw.

She looked braver in ink.

Not fearless. Not unscarred. But resolved. The shadows around her eyes were deeper now, heavier with knowledge instead of terror. I pulled the pen away and sat back slowly, careful not to smudge anything, and studied the page.

The chapter was done.

The sense of fulfillment that bloomed in my gut took me by surprise. Yeah, by the end of each project I felt satisfaction. But this? This was over the top.

I’d been worried the work had come easily. Too easily. The lines had flowed where they needed to go. The pacing felt right. The story hadn’t fought me. It was almost as if I fell into Seris’ body.

I glanced at the clock on the wall and realized I’d been sitting there for hours without noticing the time, without the usual ache behind my eyes or the pressure building in my chest.

It might be the best chapter I’d ever inked.

I shivered at the thought. For the last eight months, thinking about and then finally doing the creating had been survival. Just seeing Seris in my mind while I shared the house with Zarek after I’d come home from the hospital, had saved me. Then moving here… starting to create. The fog was lifting. The pain was receding like the ocean at low tide.

A knock sounded at the door.

Not tentative. Familiar. I couldn’t help my grin. Three of my favorite people in the whole world had arrived.

I crossed the apartment and opened the door just as Bella lifted her hand to knock again.

“Aunt Chloe,” she said seriously, peering past me into the apartment. “Are you working?”

I smiled. “Yep.”

“Can I see?”

I nodded.

She stepped inside without waiting for permission, slipping out of her shoes neatly by the door. Trenda followed more slowly, balancing baby Drake against her shoulder, diaper bag hanging from the crook of her arm.

“Hi,” Trenda said, her eyes already scanning my face, cataloging details she pretended not to notice. “You look… good.”

“That pause wasn’t subtle at all,” I teased.

She huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m a mother. Subtle is a luxury item.”

I turned to see Bella at my drawing table. She didn’t touch anything. She just leaned forward, studying the page I’d left out.

“You’re inking,” she noted.

I nodded.

“Is this the Forest of Nightmares?” she asked, tracing the air just above the page without touching it.