Bree.
She’s framed in a mirror—black iron scrollwork, ornate and ancient. The kind of mirror that belongs in a nightmare, not a sanctuary.
Where is she?
She’s wearing dark silk. Off-shoulder, clinging to curves I’ve memorized despite myself. The fabric pools around her like ink, like shadow given form. She’d never choose this. She barely owns anything silk at all, and when she does wear it, it’s soft colors. Cream. Lavender. Not this.
Not black.
The stone beneath her is polished obsidian. Cold. I can feel it through the vision, radiating a chill that has nothing to do with temperature. Silver fire burns in sconces along the walls—wrong, all of it wrong. The flames don’t flicker like normal fire. They pulse. Breathe. And they hum—low and unnatural, like a heartbeat beneath the stone.
She’s alone in the frame.
But she’s not.
Her breath catches. Shallow. Quick.
Her back arches slightly, and I watch her eyes flutter closed. Lips part. Just barely. The kind of response that comes from touch, from skin on skin, from—
I try to see who’s with her. Try to shift the vision, expand it, catch even a glimpse of movement or shadow.
Nothing.
Just her. Just her face, her body responding to something I can’t see.
Someone’s touching her.
Why the hell can’t I see who it is?
The realization hits like cold water. Someone is touching her, and she’s reacting. Her shoulders tense. Her head tilts back. The silk shifts as she moves, sliding lower on one shoulder.
Then I see them.
Marks on her wrists. Dark bands circling pale skin like bracelets. Not bruises—something else. Something that moves slightly when I try to focus on it, like smoke trapped under glass. They pulse once—like a heartbeat—then go still.
I don’t know what they are, but they look like shadow.
And I know they’re wrong.
Her breath catches again. Sharper this time. Her fingers curl against nothing—reaching for something, or trying to push it away. I can’t tell.
The silk slides lower.
Her eyes open.
For one impossible moment, she looks directly at me. Through the mirror. Through the vision. Through whatever barrier separates us.
Her green eyes staring right into my soul.
And she’s terrified.
But there’s something else in her eyes. Something that makes my stomach turn and my body respond in ways that fill me with shame.
Desire.
Need.
Surrender wrapped in fear wrapped in want.
