AVERY’S POV:
It burned.
Every line of that mysterious tattoo seared into my spine like fire biting my skin. The pain was relentless, curling through my nerves, refusing to let up. I wasn’t sure if it was the nightmare or the damn ink itself, but when I jolted awake, my body was drenched in sweat, my breath coming too fast, too shallow.
I curled into the nearest corner, pressing my back against the wall as if that would steady me. My throat was dry, scratchy, like I’d swallowed sandpaper. I needed water—desperately—but nothing was in reach.
What was happening to me?
My mind was a battlefield, torn between reality and the fragments of my dream—the bloodied man in my arms. The cold, sticky wetness of his lifeless body seemed so real. The images wouldn’t leave me, wouldn’t stop repl
