18-It takes me before I can brace myself.
One second, I’m clinging to Caden’s warmth, and the next—I’m falling. Yanked into memory. My memory.
But not mine alone.
Because this time, he’s with me. Every breath. Every heartbeat. He is three years old, just like I was. And together, we are drowning in the past.
⸻
It’s cold.
Not the kind of cold you can shiver off—but damp, dark, hopeless cold. The kind that seeps into your bones and never lets go.
My wrists are chained above me. Iron shackles, far too big for my little arms, bite into skin already torn and scabbed over. I can’t sit properly. I can’t stand. I just hang—a limp, tiny body caught between agony and exhaustion.
The stone beneath me is slick with old blood and mildew. My bare feet twitch against it, already numb. My dress is
