>>Aelin
I woke up with a gasp.
My lungs struggled for air like I'd been drowning in sleep. My skin was slick with sweat, clinging to the sheets, and my heart thrashed violently against my ribs like it wanted out.
The dream had been too vivid. Too cruel. And far too real.
I sat up slowly, pressing a hand to my chest, trying to ground myself. The room was still, silent, the only sound the rhythm of my breathing—fast and uneven. The sunlight had already slipped through the curtains, golden and warm, casting long lines across the floor.
Morning. It was morning.
I should've felt peace at the light. Safety.
But all I could feel was the lingering grief in my chest, coiled tight and suffocating. The ache from a memory that had buried itself so deep in me, it had become part of my bones.
I turned my face toward the window, let the light hit me. It helped, a little. But the pain didn't lift. Not really.
