Claudia has to see Dorian.
Tonight.
He might hurt her, but he can’t kill her. He wants his freedom too badly, and he’s said it himself: She is his last hope.
For the first night since she danced off the ledge, she does not take any essence of dreams.
She tries to conjure a Doorway, but it won’t work. She’s doing everything right, but it just won’t show up. She doesn’t mean to, but she falls into a dreamless sleep, opening her eyes only at the first shard of morning light cutting through her window.
Fuck. Dorian really meant it—he will not let her in.
But Claudia won’t give up without a fight.
The next night, she tries a new method. If she can’t get through with desire alone, she’ll add fear. Both of them in equal weight will be enough to open the door. She steps onto her balcony and leans over the edge, teasing her body with the threat of a fall.
She’s counting the stars, searching for familiar constellations and—
Wait.
Wait.
She blinks. Squints. Rubs her eyes and shakes her head. But still, she sees something else among the stars.
Eyes. Glowing green eyes.
“Dorian,” she whispers. He said he was trapped by cursed stars—could that be him, peering down at her from his celestial prison?
Certainty steels her spine. That’s Dorian. She can feel it. Feelhim.
The Realm of Nightmares must be right there, hidden in plain sight, in the dark between stars.
Leaning forward, she slips and barely catches herself on the balustrade. Heart racing, she leaps back, pressed to her doors, fighting to catch her breath.
This fear is bone-deep and perfect. This is exactly how she entered the Realm of Nightmares the first time. Why shouldn’t it work again?
Eagerly, she rushes inside and slams her head to the pillow, shutting her eyes tightly.
Then she uses every drop of desire in her body to manifest the Doorway. It’s shadowy, hardly able to withstand the heavy darkness around it.
But it’s there.
Relief swells in her chest. It’s there. Dorian is letting her come back. He’ll help her. He has to.
Just when she steps through, something strikes her.
No—clawsher.
With a scream, she wakes up gasping and choking on her own panic. Her heart burns. Her chest aches. Her breastbone feels as though it’s been cleaved in two.
She leaps from the bed and peels off her sweat-drenched clothes, then stares at her bruised chest in the mirror. Between her breasts are three fresh, oozing gashes. The torn flesh burns as though it’s been charred. Her heart stutters and stalls. Panicked, she flattens her hands against her chest and tries to stop the bleeding, but she only makes it worse. It spurts and rivers down her belly. She needs medicine.
She needs Alistair.
But his room is so far away. How can she—
Wait. Bishop. Bishop can go get him. Stumbling, Claudia opens his enclosure. “Bishop, I need help. I need…” Her breath runs out. She drops to her knees. “Alistair. Get Alistair,” she says before slipping back into the dark.
In a daze, she skirts the edge of the Realm of Nightmares, not quite lucid enough to step inside. The world is one big blur of black. She sees flashes of Dorian, of glowing green eyes, of claws dripping with her star-soaked blood. All while the wind screams her name.
