I dropped the gun on the dresser and crossed the room in three strides.
“Syx.” I grabbed his shoulders. Tried to hold him still. “Wake up. You’re dreaming!”
He swung.
Caught me across the jaw with his elbow. The impact snapped my head to the side.
I tasted blood.
“Syx!”
“Get her off me—” His voice was hoarse. Shredded. “Please—she’s so heavy—I can’t?—”
He was still asleep.
Still trapped in the nightmare.
I grabbed his wrists. Pinned them to the mattress. Used my weight to hold him down.
“Syx.Look at me.”
He bucked against me. Stronger than he should’ve been. Fueled by terror that didn’t know it wasn’t real.
“She’s dead—” The words tore out of him. “She’s dead and she won’t stop looking at me—her eyes—Mama please?—”
His whole body convulsed.
I could feel the sweat soaking through his shirt. Could smell it—sharp and acrid, the scent of pure fear.
“Syx.” I leaned closer. Put my face directly in his line of sight even though his eyes were still closed. “Wake up.”
Nothing.
He kept fighting. Kept screaming words that didn’t make sense. Fragments of the nightmare spilling out in broken pieces.
Dirt in my mouth. Can’t breathe. She’s so cold. Why won’t she move? Mama, wake up. Please wake up.
I’d found him like this before.
Syx had lived.
But part of him was still in that grave.
“Syx.” I shook him harder. “Wake the fuck up.”
His eyes snapped open.
Wild. Unfocused. Still seeing whatever hell his mind had trapped him in.
He tried to swing again.
I caught his fist. Held it.
“It’s me,” I said. Kept my voice low. Steady. “It’s Amai. You’re in my house. You’re safe.”
He blinked.
Once.
