Octavia's Point of View
The mirror fogs slightly from the hot water, but I hardly notice it. I lean over the sink, my palms pressed flat against the porcelain, and I splash another handful of water onto my face, but this time its ice cold. It stings against my skin, shocking me back into the present, but the nightmare still clings like smoke.
I straighten slowly, meeting my reflection. My eyes are wide, haunted, the kind that don’t belong to someone who just dreamed, but to someone who lived it. My fingers curl around the edge of the sink until my knuckles ache.
“Pull it together,” I whisper to myself. But my voice does not sound convincing, not even to me.
I towel dry my face, shove my damp hair out of the way, and step quietly back into the dorm room. Clary stirs but does not wake, a
