Chapter 23

Aria’s POV

I didn’t realize it was a dream until minutes later, until the sharp edges of the memory pressed against my mind and I realized how real it had felt, how heavy my chest was, how my hands still shook as if the fear had followed me into the waking world.

“Wake up… wake up…” I screamed, my small hands pressing against a man who didn’t move, shaking him over and over, my tears falling onto his shirt, soaking the fabric but not making him respond, my knees digging into the hard floor, my body trembling so violently I felt like I might collapse, my fingers clutching at his shirt as if I could pull life back into him by sheer force. The smell of smoke and wet earth hung in the air, and then the gunshots started, sudden and close, cracking all around me, and I flinched, spinning to hide behind a rusted barrel, my breath coming fast and ragged, my heart hammering so loud it hurt in my ears, my eyes wide and unblinking because I didn’t know where to run or what to do, because nothing felt safe.

I woke screaming, my body drenched in sweat, my shirt sticking to my skin, the blanket twisted in my fists. My chest ached and burned from the fast, shallow breaths I couldn’t control, and I curled in on myself, pressing my face into the pillow, my legs shaking so hard they felt useless, hoping the nightmare would stay behind me if I stayed still, hoping Damien hadn’t heard.

The door slid open a crack, and his shadow appeared. I froze, unsure if I wanted him to see me like this. He stopped when he saw me, his eyes sharp, taking in every tremble and shudder. I didn’t expect him to be gentle, not like this.

“Aria?” His voice was low, careful, softer than I expected. My throat tightened, and I couldn’t answer. I just let out another shivering breath, my arms wrapped around my middle, my shoulders shaking.

He came closer and sat beside me. He didn’t touch me at first, just stayed close enough for me to feel him. “What… what happened?” His voice was steady, but there was something new in it, something gentle that didn’t match the sharp edge I was used to. I shook my head, clutching the blanket tighter, unable to form the words.

He didn’t push. He stayed quiet for a moment, and then he got up and poured a glass of water. When he returned, he held it out to me, and I wrapped my fingers around it, feeling the cold glass seep into my shaking hands. “Drink,” he said softly. I obeyed, even though my throat still burned and my lungs felt like they didn’t belong to me.

He stayed beside me, close but not touching, and said, “It’s okay. Try to slow down. In… out… in… out…” His voice was calm in a way that surprised me, careful and steady, pulling me back from the edges of panic. “Focus on your body. You’re safe. Count it if you need to.”

I nodded, trying to follow his words. I took deep, shivering breaths, forcing my chest to rise and fall. My fingers loosened around the blanket just a little. My stomach twisted as the images returned anyway—the gunfire, the man, the barrels, the wet concrete, the smell of smoke and fear.

He stayed for a few minutes, guiding me, repeating instructions, “Again. In… hold… out… slow… longer… good.” His voice was patient, something I wasn’t used to, and slowly my body began to obey. My legs stopped shaking as violently, my chest eased a fraction, and my eyes lost some of their wide, terrified stare.

After a long moment, he stood, brushing his hands together. “You’ll be okay. Try to rest. Drink some water if you need it. I’ll check on you later.” His eyes lingered on me, sharp and careful, and then he quietly left, the door sliding shut with a soft click.

“Why’s he so nice all of a sudden?” I thought to myself, that wasn’t the Damien I knew.

I pressed my palms to my face, trying to hold onto the calm he had left behind. But my mind went straight back to the nightmare the little girl screaming over a lifeless man, the gunfire, the hiding, the panic I had felt. Who were they? Why did I keep dreaming about them? Why couldn’t I remember clearly? My fingers dug into the blanket as if holding onto it could pull answers from the shadows of my mind, but all I got was confusion and fear and frustration.

The apartment was quiet. I pressed back against the pillow, trying to convince myself to sleep, to let the nightmare fade, to let my body rest, but the questions kept spinning in my head, threading through my chest like icy wires.

Almost without thinking, I started to hum. My voice was small and shaky, almost breaking with the last tremors of fear. The words came slowly, fragile, quiet, but each note felt like a hand trying to hold me together. I sang, letting the melody wrap around me like a warm hand.

“Sleep, little one, the night is kind,

Close your eyes, leave fear behind,

The world can wait, the dark will fade,

I’m here, my love, I will stay.”

The lullaby was the only thing I remembered fully, the only thing that had ever calmed me after the nightmares. I let my body sink into the pillow, my hands loosening the grip on the blanket, my eyes heavy but open just a little longer, tracing the lines of light across the apartment, listening to the city breathe beneath me. I let the song stitch me back to myself, one slow, quiet stitch at a time, until the nightmare seemed to recede just enough for sleep to find me again.