The clock on the bedside table read 2:14 AM, its red digital numbers bleeding into the darkness like a warning. For Lena, the guest room had become a cage of stagnant air and suffocating silence.
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the phantom sensation of soil beneath her paws and the frantic, rhythmic thud of a heart that beat in sync with hers.
The dream hadn't just ended; it had left a residue on her soul, a magnetic pull that was physically dragging her toward the window.
She moved with a quietness that surprised her, slipping out of the bed without a single floorboard groan. She didn't put on shoes.
She didn't grab a jacket. In her leggings and a thin sleep tank, she navigated the dark hallway, passing the closed door where Ethan slept the heavy, oblivious sleep of a man who
