The next morning, I woke up with a feeling of dread in my stomach and an unnatural heat playing across the surface of my skin. The smell of smoke was a ghost in my memory, and though I didn’t remember the details of the dream I’d just had, a sense of déjà vu, hazy and ominous, seemed to cloud the rest of my thoughts.
A night plagued by nightmares I couldn’t quite remember had done little to shed light on my current predicament. In an ideal world, I would have woken up knowing exactly what to do and how to read between the lines of what Sora had told me to derive a solution that didn’t involve either turning Lucas back over to Othello or brokering some kind of deal with him and trading one wolf for another.
This, however, wasn’t an ideal world, and no matter how hard I tried to think of a
