Veronica's POV Four stopped sleeping. I watched him deteriorate over three days, pacing the house at night, jumping at shadows, refusing to talk about the nightmare that woke him screaming. He looked haunted in a way I had not seen since the early days after we first met. This was different though. Deeper. Older. On the fourth morning, I found him in Monte's room at dawn, just watching our son sleep. His face was wet with tears. "Four," I said softly. He turned to me and I saw real fear in his eyes. Not the controlled vigilance he usually carried but raw terror. "I think I remember," he whispered. "I think Elena was right. I think I watched my father kill someone and I buried it so deep I convinced myself it was a nightmare." I crossed the room and took his hands. They were ice cold. "We need to call Dr Morrison," I said.
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