Page 17 of Ghoul Me, Maybe

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Wood cracks.

Water pours through a split in the floorboards, icy and violent.

Elias looks at me.

Dead in the eyes, like heknowsI’m there.

“Sienna.”

The dream jerks like a pulled thread.

Suddenly I’m underwater. Cold. Weightless. Screaming without sound.

And he’s gasping.

One breath. Two. Blood in the water. Eyes wide. Reaching for something just out of frame.

For me.

Then darkness.

I wake up soaked in sweat, tangled in sheets that feel like sails. My chest is heaving like I ran a mile through sand, and my muscles ache like I did more than justdreamthat fall.

The room smells like salt.

I blink blearily toward the window. It’s shut tight. No rain. No waves. No excuse.

I sit up—and hiss.

There’s a bruise blooming across my ribs. Purple and green like a storm cloud. I press it, and it sings a song of pain right down to my spine.

“What the hell…” I mutter, peeling back the covers.

There’s another one on my thigh. Faint, but real. Definitely wasn’t there when I passed out last night.

I stumble into the bathroom and flick on the light. My face is pale. Eyes bloodshot. Lips chapped like I spent hours in the wind.

I splash water on my face and lean into the mirror.

“Okay, this is not normal. Even forme.”

My phone buzzes from the nightstand. One missed call from Mira. Three unread texts.

MIRA:You up yet?

MIRA:Call me the second you wake.

MIRA:I mean it, Vale. Don’t make me hex your ass.

I text back:On my way. Something’s wrong.

Mira doesn’t wait for me to knock.

She opens the door in a flannel robe and fingerless gloves, holding a steaming mug in one hand and a wand-shaped thermometer in the other.

“Get in,” she barks. “You look like a ghost and smell like seaweed.”

“Charming,” I mutter, stepping inside. “I dreamed again.”

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