Nightmare part 1

I paced back and forth in the room, going through my conversation with Feran. Nothing made sense. Miriam didn’t help either, she left me wondering and didn’t bother to reveal what she knew. I didn’t have much information. I needed to know what Miriam and Feran’s true intentions were. Who did Feran work with? A normal person would wrap their hands around the friend they claimed to miss but she stared at me like she couldn’t believe I was still alive, like she didn’t want me to be alive.

I bit my nails.

Miriam only seemed to harbor nothing but hate for me, not that that bothered me but I wanted to be assured that she simply just hated me and didn’t intend to hurt me and if she did hurt Giulia, who did she work for? Who was she with when she wasn’t with me?

Then there was Cohen’s brother, he didn’t even inform me he had a brother and why? What’s so hard in telling me you have a brother your mate is head over heels in love with. Did he know his brother—Nathaniel loved Giulia?

I had so little information. I had to find someone I trusted.

Then it dawned on me, Gabriel was the only one who seemed to not have an ulterior motive. I hoped I’m right.

I dropped my hand and stepped back, dropping onto the bed, letting my weight sink into the thin mattress. The ceiling stared back at me like a blank page. I groaned, my voice muffled by the empty room.

This was harder than I thought. Everything I knew confuses me more than they helped. Should I run again? Just disappear? But where would I even go this time? I had no plan.

Would Cohen come after me if I left?

The thought made my stomach twist. Would he hunt me down? Would he—kill me?

My throat tightened as I shut my eyes, forcing the thoughts away. I didn’t want to think anymore. I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to be here. I let out a shaky breath, and without realizing it, sleep slipped over me.

Then—

I was running.

The world around me shifted, bent, and swirled. I was smaller—my legs shorter, thinner. My feet slapped against the earth, too fast, too loud. Children’s voices cackled around me, cruel and breathless with excitement. I stumbled through a blur of faces—children my age—laughing, sneering, shoving. Then I remembered this day, I was at the orphanage.

One of them rammed into my shoulder, knocking me sideways. Another pushed me from behind. I spun, trying to find balance, but they crowded in like wolves, circling prey. Their laughter turned sharp, high-pitched, and ringing. I tried to shout, to scream, but no sound came out. My voice had vanished.

“Run, freak,” one of them jeered.

“Run, rogue,” They all chanted.

“Wierdo, no one wants you here, Just leave.”

The words pierced deeper than any push, than any blow. My chest rose and fell too fast. My legs burned as I tried to escape the tight circle closing in. Then the ground vanished.

I was falling.

Darkness wrapped around me like a curtain, and when I hit the floor, it didn’t hurt—it just echoed. Cold and hollow. I pushed myself up slowly, trembling, my palms scraping against stone. I wasn’t outside anymore.

I was in a room. A room I didn’t recognize—dim, colorless, and bare. The air was heavy and still. The silence loud enough to make my ears ring.

Then footsteps.

Deliberate. Measured.

I turned slowly, my breath caught mid-throat. A figure emerged from the shadows. Tall, cloaked in darkness, their face a blur until they stopped in front of me. I tried to look away, but a hand reached out—long fingers, pale, cold—and grabbed my chin. Their touch was icy against my skin.

The fingers tightened and tilted my head upward until I was forced to meet their gaze.

“You pathetic little thing,” the figure spat, the voice smooth but dripping with disdain. “You’re still trying to fit in. You’re still yearning to be loved. What makes you think anyone else ever will?”

My stomach knotted. I wanted to jerk away, but I couldn’t move. My body refused to do anything. My hands laid lifelessly beside me and my knees glued to the floor. I wasn’t a child anymore but still, I felt just as small. Just as helpless.

My eyes was glued to the person’s face. I tried my harset to figure out who it was.

“You think you’re special?” the voice hissed. “You’re nothing. You’ll always be nothing.”

Then the hand slid from my chin to my neck. Tightened.

My eyes widened. I forced my hand up and I clawed at their wrist, desperate for air, for escape. The pressure grew. The voice spoke, cruel and low, “No one’s coming for you.”

My vision blurred but for a split second, a face appeared. The blurry person now had a face. It looked like Tesson.

Then—sharp and sudden—I woke up.

I gasped, my fingers held tightly onto the sheets as I jerked upright. My chest heaved up and down, my eyebrows lowered. I looked around, hastily.

Cohen.

I wanted to speak—to ask him why he was here, what he was doing in my room—but the words wouldn’t come. My throat clenched shut, my lips parted, but no sound escaped. I just stared.

That’s when I saw them—the documents he held loosely in one hand, edges slightly bent like he’d been gripping them for a while. The dim glow of the little lamp on the cupboard beside my bed cast a soft golden light across his face, highlighting the quiet strain in his jaw.

He sat close, too close. He sat on the chair by my bed—like someone who had every right to be there. One leg crossed casually over the other, his back slightly hunched as he read something in the flickering light. For a moment, I just watched him, confused, still caught between fear and waking. I wondered if this was part of my dream but his presence didn’t feel like a dream. It felt too real.

Then he uncrossed his legs with a slow movement and leaned forward, setting the documents down on my bed. His hand reached out, fingers curling around the glass cup that sat untouched beside the lamp. Without a word, he held it out to me.

I hesitated. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached out, our hands almost brushing. I took it slowly, unsure if I should drink or speak first.

Still, he said nothing.

He just sat back, eyes unreadable, watching me.

And I couldn’t help but wonder—why was he here? What had brought him into this quiet moment, into my only safe space? Was he here to explain something? Or to make it worse? But why did it have to be now in the dead of night?