Four days before Christmas, the nightmares returned.
Normally Zoe jolted out of bad dreams with a silent lunge, stiff and sweaty-shaking, her knuckles jammed against her mouth and the scream safely trapped inside her ribcage. She should have known any relaxation at all was dangerous.
But…Jack’s voice, soft and reflective. Just show me where you are, just give me a sign. Had it been him all those years, speaking across thousands of miles? Would they have found her despite Mama’s frantic insistence on running and hiding, if Zoe hadn’t been…strange?
Just show me where you arejust give me a sign. She wasn’t quite sure if she’d cried out or not, sitting bolt-upright in the bed, her skin greasy-cold and the pretty blue suite a sudden, unfamiliar trap.
“Zo? Zoe!” Someone was upset. There was
