Nick’s hand resumes, slow through my hair. His breathing evens. He’s warm. The couch smells like smoke and detergent. He smells like cold air and soap and that woodsy cologne that made me stupid back at the plaza.
My thoughts loosen.
I drift.
The dream comes the way nightmares always come—quiet at first, like a hand sliding under the door.
The house is colder than this cabin. The hallway stretches too long and too narrow, and the air tastes like mildew and bleachand old fear baked into wood. Doors yawn half-open on either side, dark mouths waiting to swallow you if you step wrong.
I hear the girls before I see them.
Whispers. Sniffling. Prayers that sound like bargains.
“Please, I’ll be good—”
“I won’t tell—”
“He said it’s just for a little while—”
My bare feet slap the wood as I run toward the back door. My heart is pounding, my chest heaving. I know how this goes. I’ve watched it too many times.
The screen door squeals. A man’s hand closes around a thin arm. A girl is dragged across the yard, snow swallowing her footsteps as she’s pulled toward the dark line of trees.
Toward the cabin.
I can’t move.
My fingers dig into the peeling paint of the doorframe until my nails ache.
Every time, I tell myself I’ll do something. Scream. Throw myself at him. Bite. Kick. Make it harder.
Every time, I stand there and watch.
The girl looks back once, eyes wide and wet. Then the trees swallow them both, and the yard is empty. Just the cabin in the distance. Just snow. Just that awful, echoing silence.
They never come back.
The next morning, there’s one less plate at the table. One less bunk. One less pair of cheap sneakers lined up by the mat. Everyone whispers about “new placements,” about “being chosen,” about “special,” but we all know what disappearing looks like.
In the dream, my throat opens on a sound I can’t hold.
“After he takes you there,” I whisper, voice cracking, “you don’t make it back.”
“Sugarplum.”
This time it’s not our foster father’s bark. It’s softer. Closer.
“Meredith—hey.”
Hands grip my shoulders.
I jolt awake with a strangled breath, heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to break free of me. The room swims. The firelight throws shadows up the log walls that look too much like moving bodies. My cheeks are wet. My lungs keep taking sharp, panicked pulls like I forgot how to breathe in my sleep.
Nick’s face comes into focus inches from mine.
Nick’s face comes into focus inches from mine. His hair’s a little mussed, eyes dark and wide and full of concern that make something twist hard in my chest. I’ve seen that look on a boy with bruises under his sleeves.
“You’re okay,” he says. “You’re here. With me.” His thumbs move over my cheeks, wiping tears I didn’t realize I’d shed. “Just a dream. I’ve got you.”
