A tremor ripples through me.
No.
No, it wasn’t real.
He wasn’t here.
He couldn’t have been.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the heel of my palm to my forehead.
But then?—
A whisper.
A breath.
A shadow leaning over me in the dark.
A thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.
A voice that slid into my veins like he’d never left.
You taste the same.
My heart kicks so hard I almost double forward.
“No,” I breathe, shaking my head. “That didn’t happen. That wasn’t real. That was a dream. A—hallucination. A drugged hallucination.
But then my fingers drift to my lip.
It stings.
Sore.
Bruised.
Bitten.
I gasp and jerk away from my own hand like it burned me.
That did not happen in a dream.
I turn sharply, scanning the kitchen, looking for anything—anything—that feels out of place.
The fruit bowl sits exactly where I left it.
The chairs are even, tucked neatly under the table.
No muddy footprints.
No open doors.
No sign of intrusion.
Except—The back door lock.
Turned the wrong way.
