Chapter 9
I lie there for hours, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that I'm overreacting. It was just a name. Just a coincidence. Daxon doesn't know where I am.
Around ten, I hear his bike roar to life and fade into the distance like always. Tristan's nightly ritual of riding through the countryside to do what I have no clue of.
I often wonder what he thinks about during those rides, whether he worries about me the way I worry about him.
Exhausted from the day's emotional turmoil, I fall asleep almost immediately.
But sleep brings no peace.
I wake up in the middle of the night with my throat parched and my mouth dry as cotton. My dreams have been filled with shadows and red eyes, and I need something to wash away the taste of fear.
Tristan never keeps soft drinks
