The Door

POV: Fiona

I don't know when I fell asleep. Maybe I never did. Maybe my body just gave out, dragging me into a half-conscious state where my mind never stopped racing. My bones ached from lying on the floor, my muscles stiff and twisted, but I couldn't bring myself to move.

The handprint was still there.

Dark, glistening, the streaks of blood catching the faint glow of city lights. I kept waiting for it to fade, for reality to bend and make it disappear. But it didn't. It lingered like a wound, proof that last night wasn't a nightmare.

Jeremy was real.

The sun crept over the skyline, bleeding pink and orange through the curtains, but it brought no comfort. The suite smelled stale, a mix of cold champagne, roses, and the sharp metallic sting of blood. My throat was raw, and my eyes burned from crying, but I didn't remember shedding a single tear.

I needed Xavier.