“The cameras haven’t picked up anything suspicious from the rest of the house, and there’s clearly no one in here with her.I think it was just a nightmare,” I explain.
Willa drops the gun and then looks again at the scratches on Hayami’s arms.Glancing back at me, she seems to accept my version of events.
“You should go back to bed,” I tell her.“I’ll sort this.”
“You sure?”Willa eyes the room like she might have missed something.
“Yeah, I got this.”
She waits a beat, surveys the room one more time, then nods and heads for the door.“I’ll do a sweep downstairs, just to be sure,” she says before leaving.
Now alone, I look down at Hayami.
She’s still gripping my forearms.A tremor runs through her body, down her arms, and into mine, like a conductor.
“It’s okay.You’re okay,” I tell her, pulling the blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapping it around her shoulders.
“What happened?”she asks.The wobble in her voice is so unlike her that it almost doesn’t sound like her at all.
“I think you were dreaming.”
She looks at her hands, her bloodied nails.
“What did I do?”Her eyes are bulbous, the whites stark.
“You just got out of bed and started scratching your arms.Did you feel anything?”
“I just felt this dread, this horrible, awful dread, like something terrible was going to happen.And then you were in the room.”
I glance at her bed.
She shakes her head.“I can’t go back to sleep.Not after that.”
“Why don’t we get a drink?”I suggest.
“Yes.A drink.”
I lead her from the room as she tightens the blanket around her shoulders.She’s not the only one who needs a fucking drink.
* * *
HAYAMI
Rain batters the kitchen windows as if trying to get in.Its rhythm matches that of my heart still hammering in my chest.
Willa appears in grey loungewear, which just looks odd compared to her normal combats and T-shirts.
“Okay, everything’s clear,” she says to us both.“You sure you’re okay?”she asks me.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
Willa looks at Fenrir before saying, “I’ll head back up if you’re sure you’re both all right?”
“We’re good,” the Beast replies.
Shivering despite the blanket, I sit at the large table as he pulls two glasses from one of the cabinets and finds a bottle of something.
“I can’t imagine this was in the basic supplies that were delivered,” I say, taking in the artificial glow of the under-cabinet lighting and the tea towel hanging innocently on the handle of the oven.This scene feels so different from the one in my room not five minutes ago.
