The whistle screamed before sunrise, a harsh, grating sound that tore through the thin veil of sleep Elara had barely managed to grasp.
Her eyes snapped open, heart hammering against her ribs.
The dream clung to her like a second skin, vivid and agonizingly real.The silver field.
The silver eyes.
The way his face had crumbled when she turned her back on him.
For five years, in every dream, every nightmare, every fleeting moment of subconscious hope, she had run toward him.
She had thrown herself into his arms, seeking salvation in his touch.
Last night had been the first time she had turned her back.
She had walked away from the only thing that felt real.And somehow, that disturbed her more than the r**e, more than the bruises, more than the cold stone she slept on.
It felt li
