A vision.
Tabitha leans over a counter, gloved hands steady.
She holds a frosted glass vial.
Etched on the front in delicate silver script: Silversleep.
She taps a pinch into the cream meant for the mashed potatoes.
Blends it in like it’s sugar.
Then adds another dose to the cake batter.
Smooths it in slowly, humming. Like it’s just another recipe.
She wipes her hands. Removes the gloves.
Then begins decorating the cake—
Simple. Beautiful. Innocent.
But it’s not.
It’s a weapon.
⸻
I snap back into my body with a gasp.
The ocean. The moon. The warm hand around my waist.
Caden is staring at me like I’ve just dropped a bomb between us.
“You saw it too,” I whisper, my throat dry.
He nods, face pale under the glow of the moonlight. “Silversleep. In the food.”
The word rings in
