Naeva Quinn

My lips trembled. That face—impossible to mistake. It was her.

I’d seen her before—once, twice, maybe more. Always in my dreams. The ones that clung to me long after I woke. She terrified me then, and seeing her now, real and solid, chilled me to the bone.

What unsettled me most was how I couldn’t remember the dreams themselves, yet her face was carved into my memory like a scar.

She crossed the space between us and pulled me into her arms. Her embrace was firm—too ...