Aerion
Slipping into Arya’s dreams had become a habit, one I hadn’t fully justified to myself. Drakos thought it was bordering on obsession, but he didn’t complain. He liked watching her as much as I did, though he was usually more vocal about what he saw or didn’t see. Tonight, I told myself it would be like the other times. I would observe, not manipulate.
As I let my consciousness shift into the dreamscape, I expected to find Arya in one of her usual dream settings with Ethan or in a random forest. Instead, I was met with a face I hadn’t seen in years.
“It’s her,” Drakos said, stunned.
“Impossible,” I whispered back. But there was no mistaking it.
Calista.
Her face was unmistakable, even after all these years. It was her. Or, at least, it looked like her.
“This isn’t real,” Drako
