Jessica Lewis
Sleep wrapped around me like a heavy fog, dragging me under before I had the chance to fight it.
I barely remembered curling up beneath Tristan’s sheets, my body aching from the pleasure he had wrung from me, my skin still humming with the echo of his touch. The scent of him—cedarwood and dark spice—clung to the pillows, grounding me, wrapping me in something warm, something safe.
And then, suddenly, it was gone.
The warmth.
The scent.
The safety.
I jolted awake with a sharp inhale—except I wasn’t in Tristan’s bed anymore.
I wasn’t anywhere familiar.
Darkness swallowed everything. A thick, endless void that carried a damp chill, curling around my skin like invisible fingers. The air was heavy, wrong, reeking of damp stone and something metallic. Something rotting.
