Eve
Elliot kept turning in bed. Sleep seemed to evade him, no matter how many cups of milk he downed. We were in the same boat. Sleep was as distant to me as the moon.
He whimpered softly in his sleep—caught in another dream. Or a memory. I couldn't tell the difference anymore. Not for him. Not for me.
I reached over and smoothed his hair back. It was getting longer again. I'd have to trim it soon.
My fingers lingered against his temple. He calmed. Just a little.
Outside, the Obsidian Tower was quiet.
But that kind of quiet was never safe.
It was the kind of quiet that came before a storm.
The kind that settled over a grave before the scream.
I turned away from Elliot and pressing my palms over my eyes until the dull ache behind them sharpened. I hadn't cried. Not properly. I didn't know if that was strength or cowardice.
There was a soft knock.
I didn't move.
Then the door opened anyway.
Kael stepped in.
