Page 18 of Visions of Darkness

The fiery tendril pierced her in the chest, and the pain was greater than anything Aria had ever felt.

Chapter Six

Aria

“Pax!” I choked over his name as a muddled scream tore up my throat. I scrambled upright from where I’d been face down on a bench.

Gasps heaved my chest as confusion blistered through my body. The memory was so distinct I could have sworn I was right there with him.

I blinked, trying to rein my uneven breaths as I took in my foreign surroundings.

The room was cold and grimy, and dingy rust-colored tiles covered the floors. A drone of voices filled the musty atmosphere as people came and went. A voice announced over crackling speakers that a bus was arriving from New York City.

You’re at the bus station.

You’re fine. You’re fine.

Breathing through the weight of the strain, I struggled to rid myself of the memories of the first time I’d descended into Faydor.

I rarely dreamed of the past, or even dreamed at all. Only in the moments when I didn’t fully lose myself to sleep, when I hovered somewhere between consciousness and the ethereal.

Stuck in limbo.

Not awake, but also not deep enough for my spirit to have been fully carried to Tearsith.

And when I did dream, it was often of my first experience in Faydor. The night that had changed everything.

I touched the spot on my chest that would be forever scarred with that moment.

As if it were inscribed on my heart.

A moment in time when I’d met my fate.

Who I was supposed to be.

My attention traveled the area as I oriented myself.

Dreariness pressed at the windows that ran along the front of the brick building. Outside, a freezing drizzle fell from the sky, and a damp cold seeped through the walls. I hugged my backpack to my chest as if it could protect me from both the chill and the prying eyes that gauged.

Speculated.

Judged.

Those who worried I was unstable and about to snap.

I almost laughed.

If any of them had any clue about what was in my head, they would have believed that I had.

A woman in her sixties sat on a bench opposite me, clinging to her purse, not sure if she wanted to get up and move or stand to comfort me. Worry and compassion were clear in her expression.

I dropped my head to hide my eyes because I didn’t want to freak her out any more than I already had, and I blew out a heavy sigh and ran my fingers through my hair to gather myself.

It was reckless—dozing off that way.

I needed to remain vigilant.

Cautious.

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