In the dream, Simon's room no longer felt like his own. The walls seemed to pulse with a presence that wasn't of this world.
Simon, against what logic dictated, felt as if the place had a life of its own.
The night lamp flickered, casting shadows that twisted and writhed, as if trying to reach for Clara.
The air was thick, heavy with a sweet, metallic scent.
Simon sat on the edge of his bed, the sheets crumpled under his hands, staring at Clara, who occupied the chair by the desk as if she had claimed that space forever.
Her ruby-red eyes pierced through him with an intensity that left him feeling exposed, and her red hair was tied in a ponytail with the black brooch.
"What is your answer, Simon?" she said in a soft voice, almost a murmur, but laced with an urgency that made him nervous. "Are you going to keep hesitating or are you going to accept my help?"
There was something in the way she said 'help' that made Simon clench his teeth. It wasn't just the word; it was the way she looked at him, as if every second of his hesitation was closing a door between them.
He was in his own room, but he felt like an intruder, trapped in a scene Clara had shaped to her liking.
Simon didn't know if he could trust her words.
They had had fun for months together in the club, but the discovery that she was behind those dreams made him doubt her intentions.
"I don't understand what you want in return," Simon muttered, trying to sound firm, though his voice cracked at the end. "Tell me what the 'favor' is already."
Clara let out low laugh, sincere, not mocking, and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk.
At that moment, the shadows merged with the black dress Clara wore, as if they obeyed her will.
Simon felt a chill as he realized the room didn't just belong to the redhead: it was an extension of her, a reflection of her power that enveloped him.
Even her pale skin glowed with a light that didn't come from the lamp, while her fingers played with a strand of her hair, a gesture that seemed to demand his attention, her eyes never leaving him.
"It's not that complicated, Simon. You need money, don't you? I can give it to you."
She paused, tilting her head, and her gaze softened for a moment, as if she wanted him to trust her, to see her beyond her words.
"In return, I only want a small favor. Something that lets me… be a little closer to you."
Simon frowned, feeling an uncomfortable warmth in his chest. He didn't understand what she meant by 'closer,' but the way she said it, almost like a disguised plea, threw him off.
He thought of Katherine, of the warmth of her laughter, the way her fingers brushed against his while walking, the embrace they had shared.
That image grounded him in reality, but it also sparked a pang of guilt he couldn't explain.
"I don't like playing without knowing the rules," he said, hardening his voice. "If you don't explain what the price to pay is, there's no deal."
Clara stayed still for a second, and something in her expression shifted, a flicker of frustration.
She leaned closer, and Simon could smell her perfume, a scent of wilted flowers that seemed to wrap around him.
"Do you remember this?" Clara asked, removing the black brooch, letting her hair fall.
Simon held his breath, not because of the brooch itself, but because of the way Clara held it, her fingers gripping it as if she wanted to break it.
"It's your brooch, the same one that appeared twice outside these dreams," Simon replied, his voice trembling.
Clara twirled the brooch between her fingers, staring at it with a mix of disdain and something else, a wound Simon didn't see but that hung heavy in the air.
When she spoke, her voice was low, almost intimate, but a spark of anger slipped into her tone.
"It was supposed to be a gift for you, Simon, not for that… little friend of yours." She paused, her eyes lifting to meet his, gleaming with a mix of threat and pain.
"But now that it's come to this…" she whispered, as if the very idea of what she was about to say unsettled even her.
"You should know this is a bridge. As long as she has that brooch, I can enter her dreams, whisper things to her. And if I keep going, who knows… maybe I can take over her body."
Simon felt the air slip from his lungs, his chest tight with panic.
The image of Katherine, vulnerable, her eyes glassy under the control of this woman—or whatever Clara was—made him clench his fists until his knuckles ached.
Simon didn't see the jealousy in Clara's tone, in the way she spat out 'little friend' like venom, or in how her fingers tightened around the brooch as if she wanted to erase it.
All he could feel was fear and the urgent need to protect Katherine.
"Don't touch her," he demanded, but his voice sounded weaker than he intended.
Clara looked at him, and for a moment, her eyes seemed to search for something in him, something Simon wasn't giving.
Then she placed the brooch back in her hair, and her smile returned, sharp but tinged with a sadness he didn't notice.
"I don't want to hurt her, Simon. I don't want to hurt you either... I just want you to help me be free." She pointed to a bottle on the desk, filled with a white liquid that glowed as if it held fragments of stars.
"Take a drink with me, and we'll seal the deal, you'll have all the money you need."
Simon looked at the bottle, then at Clara. The room seemed to press in on him, the hum of her words echoing in his head.
He thought of Katherine, her safety, and the debt that was suffocating him.
He didn't notice the way Clara watched him, with a mix of desire and resentment, as if she wanted him to choose her for more than just the deal.
He swallowed hard, feeling as if his heart were being squeezed.
"Fine," he said at last, almost in a whisper. "Just promise to leave Katherine alone…"
"It won't be necessary," she cut him off, pouring the sparkling liquid into two glasses that materialized from nowhere.
The liquid shimmered, emitting a faint murmur. Clara raised her glass, her eyes locking onto his, searching for something beyond his agreement.
"The numbers are 7, 12, 19, 25, 33, 40. Use them in the lottery; the system assures me you'll win what you need. But afterward… don't forget me, Simon. You have to keep your end of the bargain."
Simon frowned at the mention of 'system.'
'¿The system? What is she talking about..?' he wondered, but decided not to press further, raising his glass.
They toasted in silence, the clink of the glasses echoing through the room.
Simon drank, and the sparkling liquid burned his throat, leaving a taste both sweet and bitter.
The room began to blur, the shadows stretching like fingers reaching for him.
Clara's face, with that sharp smile, was the last thing he saw before everything faded, leaving only the echo of her promise in the darkness.