Royle woke up with a start. He let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. Damn. That dream again. The gentle ticks of the clock were abnormally loud in the silence of the early morning.
Royle knew he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep. Not when he had that dream again. Of holding Misa, watching the life in her fade. He slid his legs over the bed, welcoming the morning chill. He could still feel her cold body in his arms. The blood that gushed out of her wound staining his hands red. The shatter in his heart when she stopped breathing.
His head throbbed with lack of sleep. Royle had gone to bed late the night before, and he’d barely fallen asleep before that dream destroyed whatever peace usually came with rest.
So, Royle left the warmth of his bed and started off
