The dreams began quietly.
At first, Riana dismissed them as fragments of exhaustion. She thought, ‘Perhaps those were images stitched together by too many late nights and too many burdens carried alone.’
But as the days passed, the dreams grew vivid, almost tangible, clinging to her even after she woke. There was Wesley stood in the mist every time.
Not as the man he had become, nor the man she had divorced, but something in between. Looking familiar and unsettling.
He never reached for her. He only called her name, his voice echoing as though trapped between worlds.
‘Riana… stay with me’
Sometimes there were flashes of scenes she didn’t recognise yet felt painfully personal. Blood on the floor. A woman falling down, stabbed. A hand clutching another in desperation befo
