Page 9 of Milo

Milo expels a soft laugh. “Get used to it, Kiara. There will be eyes on you all the time now."

Dread washes over me. What did I do? Why did this happen? Why did I accept that banking job? Why didn't I take a later break? Why did he have to choose my till? Why did I tell him about the bomb?

Why?!

"Perhaps you would like a sedative," Milo suggests. “It will take the edge off. You have had an eventful day."

"I'm fine," I breathe, my hands shaking. "I'm fine."

"You are not.” He nods toward Marchello who passes him a black tin. He slides open the container and picks up a rectangular pill and snaps it in half, holding out a piece. "Take it."

"No, I'm not going to take random drugs from someone I just met. Are you crazy? I'm fine."

Milo lets out a sigh, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. "It's Xanax and it will help you sleep. We have a two-hour drive to the airport and then a two-hour flight to Genova. You should rest, Kiara." He puts the pill in my hand. "It is pure, I promise."

I purse my lips, eyeing the benzo warily, my heart thumping with anxiety. "I'm surprised you're not forcing me to take it.”

"I do not force women to do anything.” He shrugs. "I have no need."

"Well, that's comforting.” I hesitate for a second before popping the Xanax into my mouth, the sharp edge of the pill scratching my throat. He's right, I need to relax. "How long does it take to work?"

"It will be quick. Just close your eyes and enjoy."

And I do.

With the stress of recent events and the potency of the sedative, I drift off to sleep effortlessly.

At first, everything is serene.

Calm.

Quiet.

Light.

But not for long. It never lasts long.

It's dark now, too dark, thunderous growls echoing all around me; screeching screams, piercing howls of demonic forces surrounding me. The air is thick, heavy, painful to breathe. My feet are bare, my heels digging into shards of obsidian glass, penetrating my skin, cutting through veins, sending spikes of agony through my core.

No, where am I? Help! Help!

Mounds of wasted earth rise all around me like it's breathing, gasping for air. And then I feel it, the magma oozing through the cracking molten rocks behind me, gushing down my body, burning it. I can't run. I can't— My head snaps down to the ashen ground, a decaying hand emerging from the volcanic debris, and another one, and another one, and another one.

Kiara.

Their heads burst out, twisting, turning, inhuman, possessed. They look familiar. So fucking familiar. Ubiytsa, they rasp in unison, their yellow eyes locked on mine as they drag their rotting corpses toward me. No, I'm not. I'm not a murderer. I'm not. I want to scream but no sounds come out. My legs can't move. I'm stuck. Frozen. Paralyzed with fear.

Kiara.

A hand coils around my ankle and yanks me down, my head slamming against the ground, jagged rocks scratching my back as more hands feast upon my limbs. No. No!

Kiara! Wake up!

I gasp, my body jolting upright. Rays of sunshine beam into the room, my forehead drenched in sweat, my breathing ragged, heavy.

It was a dream.

"Kiara, are you alright?"

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