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A whisper.

A distant pulse.

Her.

I seize the thread and pull.

For one glorious instant, I see her.

Calla stands in a marble temple beneath a black sky.

The same temple where my father condemned me three thousand years ago.

She is barefoot, wearing the white silk nightgown she wore in our first dream.

And she is pounding her fists against an invisible barrier.

“Morpheus!”

I lunge toward her.

The dream shatters.

I stagger backward into the apartment.

Calla remains motionless in my arms.

The room trembles.

The windows rattle.

But she doesn’t move.

And then a familiar voice fills the darkness.

“Still giving orders, my son?”

I turn.

Hypnos stands beside the bedroom window, his black robes shifting around him like living shadows.

My blood turns to ice.

“Release her.”

He smiles.

“Such an impolite greeting.”

I rise.

“Touch her again, and I will tear your kingdom apart.”

He laughs.

“With what power? You can barely enter a mortal’s dream without her assistance.”

My fists tighten.