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But nothing like that.

I can still smell the sandalwood.

Still hear his voice.

Still picture the way he looked at me when I reached for him.

Like my touch was the only thing he’d ever wanted.

I fall back against the pillows.

“Great. Now I’m emotionally invested in a statue.”

* * *

By eight the next morning, I’m back at the museum.

Jules is already in the laboratory, sipping an iced coffee.

“You’re early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

She grins.

“Dreaming about your boyfriend?”

I freeze.

“What?”

“The statue, Calla. Relax.”

“Oh. Right.”

She studies me.

“Wow. You actually were dreaming about him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’re blushing.”

“It’s hot in here.”

“It’s sixty-eight degrees.”

“Then I’m having a medical emergency. Can we move on?”

She laughs and heads toward the storage room.

I wait until she’s gone before approaching the statue.

Morpheus stands exactly where I left him.

Perfectly still.

Perfectly cold.