Blink. Five feet.
Emma’s body locked, her legs refusing her mind’s command to step back.
The woman leaned forward, the red veil shifting but never revealing what lay beneath. Her breath was cold against her ear—like winter air through a cracked window.
The whisper came soft but absolute: “You won’t see it coming.”
The wind exploded, violent and howling. It tore at Emma’s hair, her clothes, threatening to drag her toward the cliff’s edge. The veil lifted?—
Emma’s eyes snapped open.
Zach’s bedroom at the cottage materialized around her: the cream-colored walls, the ceiling fan spinning lazy circles, the digital clock on the nightstand reading 3:47 am in accusing red numbers. Her heart hammered against her ribs, her breathing too quick and shallow.
She pressed her palm to her chest, feeling the rapid thud beneath her ribs. Just a dream. Obviously a dream.
But her skin still prickled with the memory of that wrong wind, her ear still cold where the woman’s breath had touched it.
You won’t see it coming.
Emma sat up, pushing her dark hair back from her face. A blanket tangled around her, damp with sweat despite the air conditioning. She kicked free and swung her legs over the side of the bed, toes curling on the cool tile.
Wait, when had she come to bed? She thought back, but the last she remembered was being out in the living room with Zach. She glanced at the blanket. It wasn’t hers. Had he carried her to bed?
The cottage was quiet. Through the walls, she could hear nothing—no movement from Nick’s room, no sound from the living room. Only the distant hum of the AC unit.
She should lie down. Try to sleep. She had another full day tomorrow—today—finalizing the evacuation before the storm.
But every time she closed her eyes, she saw that red veil lifting.
Emma rubbed her face with both hands and checked the time again. 3:49. Two minutes had passed. Fantastic.
Sleep wasn’t happening. Not with her pulse still elevated, her mind still replaying that whisper in obsessive loops.
After another minute of futile stillness, Emma gave up. She stood, grabbing the thin cardigan she had left draped over her desk chair and pulling it on over her tank top and sleep shorts. The compass rose tattoo on her shoulder blade pulled as she moved—she must have slept on it wrong.
Water. Tea. Something to reset her system and convince her brain that dreams were only dreams, no matter how vivid.
She opened her bedroom door, wincing at the slight creak of the hinges. The hallway stretched before her in darkness, the faint glow of a nightlight near the bathroom providing the only illumination. She tiptoed down the hall, not wanting to wake Zach in the living room.
The cottage felt different at this hour. Smaller somehow. More intimate. During the day, with all of them moving through their separate routines, the space seemed appropriate—cozy but not cramped. Now, in the dead hours of night, Emma was hyperaware of how close the bedrooms were. David’s door was shut ten feet from hers. Nick’s room beyond.
She’d been living here for almost a week now, but this was her first time wandering around the cottage in the middle of the night. The first time she’d been unsettled enough to need a distraction.
The kitchen materialized as she rounded the corner—and she stopped short.
Someone was already there.
Nick stood in profile against the window over the sink, a mug cradled in both hands. He wore gym shorts and a faded t-shirt, his dark hair mussed from sleep—or lack thereof. He didn’t turn at her approach, but his posture altered, acknowledging her presence.
“Rough night?” His voice carried through the quiet, casual and unhurried, hushed to not disturb Zach.
Emma’s first instinct was to deflect, to brush it off as nothing, but something about the hour, about the way Nick asked without looking at her, made dishonesty feel pointless.
“Something like that.” She moved to the counter, reaching for a glass from the cabinet.
He glanced over, his green eyes doing his thing—seeing beneath the surface, seeing more than anyone would want him to. He was the most charming of the three brothers, the one who smiled easiest, but Emma recognized that didn’t make him any less observant than Zach. Just less intimidating.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked, filling her glass from the refrigerator. The water ran cold and clear, grounding her.
