I know the set of his shoulders, the tension in his hands, the way the air changes when he's about to explode.
You thought you could leave me?
His voice echoes strangely, like it's coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
I try to move, try to run, but my feet are rooted to the floor.
The apartment stretches around me, walls elongating, the distance between us growing even as he somehow gets closer.
You're mine, Ripley. You'll always be mine.
His hand reaches for my throat?—
I wake up gasping.
For a moment, I don't know where I am.
The room is dark, unfamiliar, and my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my teeth.
I clutch at the sheets, trying to orient myself, trying to remember?—
The clubhouse. I'm at the clubhouse. Cain is dead. I'm safe.
I'm safe.
I repeat it like a mantra, forcing my breathing to slow, willing my heart to stop racing.
The nightmare fades, but the feeling lingers—that sick, cold dread that lived in my stomach for three years.
The certainty that something terrible is about to happen.
Beside me, Levi stirs.
"Ripley?" His voice is rough with sleep. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." The lie comes automatically. "Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep."
He doesn't.
Instead, he props himself up on one elbow, studying me in the darkness.
I can't see his face clearly, but I can feel the weight of his gaze.
"You're shaking."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine." His hand finds mine, warm and steady. "Talk to me."
I want to.
God, I want to.
But the words stick in my throat, trapped behind years of conditioning.
Don't complain. Don't be a burden. Don't show weakness.
You're always so dramatic,Cain's voice whispers.No one wants to hear your problems.
