Lyra woke up choking on a scream.

Her sheets were wrapped around her legs like vines, damp with sweat, and her chest burned like she’d been sprinting for miles. She clawed at the blankets, dragging in air but the dream clung to her like smoke that wouldn’t clear.

The woods. Always the woods.

Cold dirt under her bare feet. Branches cutting at her arms. Every breath was a knife in her lungs.

Footsteps behind her. Heavy. Too close.

“Run,” Damon’s voice growled out of the trees. It ...