Page 20 of Broken Honor

My knees wobble. I try to step back, but the floor stretches away from me, like it’s shifting beneath my feet.

“I don’t know,” I say again, voice smaller. “Please, I don’t know anything about diamonds—”

The man on the floor begins to move.

His limbs jerk. His head lifts slowly, lips still dark with blood.

And then, horribly, he stands.

He sways beside Sheriff Caladori, chest heaving, mouth open. His eyes burn into mine.

Together, they start chanting.

“Where is the gold… where are the diamonds… Where is the gold…”

“Stop—please stop—I don’t know—I don’t know!”

But they keep repeating it, voices rising, circling me like a storm.

“Where is the gold… where are the diamonds… Where is the gold…”

I cover my ears, sobbing now, heart slamming against my ribs.

“I didn’t ask for this! I don’t want this! Please, stop, stop!”

But they don’t.

Their voices follow me deeper into the dream—louder, closer, clawing at the edges of me.

Where is the gold… where are the diamonds…

I shoot upright with a gasp, heart pounding so loud I can feel it echoing in my throat.

My nightdress clings to my skin, damp with sweat. My hands shake as I press them to my chest, trying to calm the wild rhythm inside me. The blanket slips down to my lap, and the coolness of the early morning brushes against my arms.

It’s still dark. But not the same darkness as before. The sky outside is shifting, soft and dusky, painted with the faintest blush of pink. Morning is coming. But my body doesn’t feel safe yet. I glance to my side.

Bea is still asleep beside me, curled on her side, one arm hugging her pillow. Her mouth is slightly open, her lashes resting gently against her cheeks. She looks peaceful, untouched by nightmares, as if sleep has wrapped her in a comfort I can’t seem to find.

One of her legs is sticking out from under the blanket, her foot dangling off the edge of the bed.

I reach out, intending to pull the blanket over her again—just to keep her warm. My fingers graze the fabric, and I pause.

Something shifts in the corner of my vision.

I turn toward the window.

At first, I think I’m still dreaming.

But then my breath catches all over again.

There’s a man outside the glass.

He’s standing just beyond the sill, tall and dark, his figure half-cast in shadow, half-glowed by the faint light beginning to rise behind him. His head is tilted slightly, his hands resting on the edge of the window frame, and his face—

His face is looking straight at me.

My stomach drops.

---