PROLOGUE
As the boy watched his mother drive away, abandoning him to those cruel strangers after he pleaded her not to, he made a vow, deep and resolute—he would never show another emotion again.
Though only four years old, the relentless abuse he'd endured at his mother's hands had forced him to mature far beyond his age. He knew what it meant to shut down, to protect what little was left of himself.
From then on, every time those strangers would try to break him—physically, mentally—he clung to his oath, burying every feeling that dared to surface. Anger. Fear. Despair. Loneliness. And most of all: hopelessness.
He forced it all down, squashing it into a festering pit of darkness.
Years went by. Slowly. Agonizingly.
He became a shell, hardened and impenetrable.
Until one day, the pressure he'd been holding in for so long finally erupted, as sudden and unstoppable as any natural disaster. Rage began pouring out of him like molten lava from a newly awakened volcano—hot, unrelenting, and leaving a path of destruction in its wake.
Then, in the quiet heart of the darkest night, came the unexpected—a man bearing a story, a promise, and with it, a sliver of silver hope.
PART 1
AWAKENINGS
ONE
EMMA
My head was pounding. A relentless, throbbing ache so sharp I couldn’t focus.
"I think she’s waking up," someone whispered, their voice close enough to brush against the edges of my consciousness.
"Are you sure?" a deeper voice cut in, edged with a mix of hope and a clear threat—the kind that warned the first person not to be wrong.
James.
I would have smiled if I could, but my lips were as numb as the rest of me.
The rest of their muffled conversation tugged at me, and pulled me toward wakefulness as I pushed against the fog in my mind, desperate to claw my way back to the surface.
"Emma," his warm, soothing voice whispered in my ear. "Wake up, sweetheart."
Sweetheart? James was calling mesweetheart?
Crap.Did I die?
"Let’s give her a little boost," another person suggested.
I’m almost there, you impatient assholes. Just wait.
"Don’t you dare touch her," James growled, and I loved how his words sounded like a low, menacing command. "She’ll wake when she’s ready."
Gods, I lovedhim.
I wanted to tell him it wouldn’t take much longer, but unfortunately, my body still wasn’t taking any requests. My head still throbbed, and my body seemed…off. Like “weirdly floating in the void of existence” off.
Finally, a sudden rush of life surged through me as if I’d downed an energy drink. I grabbed onto the feeling and rode the wave straight out of my stupor, clawing my way back to the land of the conscious. Then, the tingling started—like I was some half-conscious Tinkerbell, zipping around Neverland on a sugar high.
"Her eyelids are fluttering; it won’t take much longer now."
Who was that?
