The cabin is dark. Silent. Real.
No hallway.
No voices.
No Abilene.
Just me, tangled in rough sheets, sweat cooling fast against my skin. My hands are clenched so tight they ache, fingers numb, because they were gripping something that vanished the second I opened my eyes.
Fuck.
I scrub a hand down my face, breath still uneven, pulse roaring in my ears. The dream clings stubbornly, imagesbleeding into the dark behind my eyelids, no matter how hard I blink them away.
It felt too real.
Too detailed.
I sit up, elbows on my knees, head bowed, trying to ground myself in the quiet hum of the cabin and the distant lap of water against the shore.
Somewhere down the hall, a floorboard creaks as the building settles.
Abilene’s door stays shut. Jesse’s room stays dark.
Everything is exactly as it should be.
And still, my chest feels tight. My body wired and restless. My mind refusing to let go of what it imagined so vividly.
I press my palms into my eyes and exhale, as if that might put me back together.
It doesn’t.
Because now I know something I can’t unknow.
And sleep doesn’t come back for a long, long time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Abilene
Thursday
I wake up tangled in sheets that aren’t mine, heart already racing as if I’ve missed something important. For a few disorienting seconds, I don’t know where I am.
Then the memories rush in all at once. Firelight, the hallway, Jesse’s mouth, the sound of Marshall breaking through it all like a slammed door.
I sit up too fast, breath hitching.
Okay.
Okay.
I press my palms flat against the mattress and stare at the knotty pine wall until my pulse slows enough that I can think again. The cabin is quiet in that early morning way that makes every sound feel louder.
Somewhere down the hall, a floorboard creaks. The wind sighs against the windows. Rain taps gently on the roof, persistently.
Rain is good. Rain means the fire is losing.
I cling to that thought like a lifeline.
