My breath caught as the hallway darkened even more, and the air turned sharp and cold.
The voice repeated, still gentle, but now more insistent. “Ms. Palmer. . .”
The dark rippled.
The floor beneath me gave way.
And just like that. . .I woke up, opening my eyes.
What?
Golden beams poured through the curved glass. Outside, the sea glittered like it was made of diamonds.
Still, the dream clung to my chest like damp lace.
My hands were curled under my chin, and I was lying on my side, still halfway tangled in the sheets. For a second, I didn’t move. I just blinked, trying to remember where I was, how far I’d come, and why my heart felt like it had been scraped raw in the night.
I wasn’t six anymore. I wasn’t barefoot in a quiet house filled with perfume and grief.
I was here, in the Dragon’s bed.
The cherry blossom tree stood quiet in its black stone planter. A soft breeze from the ventilation system lifted its petals.
The curved windows offered a view of the world I didn’t think I’d ever earn. A private sea. A sky like brushed gold.
All around me was elegance. Black sheets. Deep red silk. A low table with a decanter of amber whiskey that looked untouched.
My copy ofWhen the Dragon Swallowed the Moonwas opened right in front of me on the bed.
My fingers rested on the page where Korin had been carrying Sol into some space to meet his twin brother.
A man cleared his throat behind me. “Ms. Palmer. . .”
Oh.
In the dream, I had thought someone had been calling for my mother, but he had been calling me.
What the hell?
The silk sheets rustled as I sat up, turned around, and found Sako standing beside the bed with an unreadable expression on his face.
“Oh.” I yawned. “Good morning.”
He gave me a soft nod. “I am so sorry to wake you, but your friends have insisted that I do.”
“Friends?”
“Mr. Zo and Ms. Hiroko—”
“Oh. Yes. My friends.”
“Ms. Palmer—”
“You can just call me Nyomi.” I rubbed my eyes. “Give me one minute please. I’m still waking up. My head is a bit foggy.”
“Of course, Nyomi.”
I stretched a little and then looked to the other side of the bed. It hadn’t been touched. Not one wrinkle. The black silk remained taut and smooth, the pillows untouched. Not even an indent in the sheets.
