Nyx's POV
The nightmare was always the same.
Kael lying in the dirt, blood pooling beneath him, eyes staring at nothing. I reached for him, but my hands passed through his body like smoke. The bond pulled taut—a silver wire stretched to the breaking point—and then it snapped. I felt myself dying.
I woke up gasping, the pain of a severed spirit still screaming in my chest. My sheets were a damp, tangled mess, clinging to me like a shroud.
Across the hall, I felt him. A sudden, violent jolt of adrenaline that wasn't mine. I had dragged him out of sleep again, drowning him in the cold, oily waves of my own terror.
Damn it. Three times in one week.
I clamped my eyes shut, trying to build a wall, to shove the panic into a dark corner before he could feel the shape of it. But my heart was a drum in my ears, and my hands were shaking so hard I had to tuck them under my thighs. The echo of the bond breaking—that hollow, silent void—refused to fade.
A soft knock. "Nyx?"
