I want to promise I’ll return for her. I want to tell her she won’t die in this place. But promises mean little here. So I only nod and step back into the shadows.
The tunnels feel longer on the way up. Each sound—the drip of water, the whisper of wind—feels like a warning. When I finally reach the secret door behind my armoire, I pause, heart pounding. I listen. Silence. Then I push it open and slip inside.
Back in my room, I set the lamp down and catch my reflection in the mirror. My face looks older, sharper. There’s a glint in my eyes I haven’t seen before. Maybe the dream really did change something. Maybe that connection to my mate—wherever he is—was more than a dream.
I press a hand over my heart, feeling that faint pulse again, that invisible thread pulling me forward.
Tomorrow
