Page 34 of Red Dreams

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I won’t let any harm come to you while you dream.”

I want to argue, to insist that he needs rest too, but my eyelids are already drooping, my body surrendering to the exhaustion that drags at me. What helps is the steady pressure of Kaden's hand in mine, an unspoken promise that he'll still be here when I wake.

His thumb traces soothing circles while sleep tugs at me, its insistent fingers dragging me under despite the adrenaline still pumping through my veins.

But as I hover on the edge of consciousness, the noises next door begin to change.

The dull thud of fists meeting flesh takes on a frenzied cadence, each impact landing with sickening irregularity.

A voice rises above the cacophony, female and achingly familiar. Cassie.

Her words are indistinct, lost to the barrier of brick and plaster, but there's no mistaking the fury that laces each syllable. It's the auditory embodiment of a gathering storm, dark and seething and poised to obliterate everything in its path.

“What’s going on?” I ask Kaden.

Cassie's voice pitches higher, the words coming faster now, a staccato burst of vitriol.

Kaden replies without tearing his attention off the locked door. “I believe she just saw me tucking you into bed.”

The blows next door reach a crescendo, each one punctuated by a gurgling male scream. I burrow deeper into the covers, pressing my face into the pillow as if I can block out the horror unfolding on the other side of the wall.

Kaden shifts beside me, resting his free hand on my back. Even through the fabric of my shirt, I can feel the heat of his touch and the pounding pulse that thrums through his body.

“Breathe, Layla,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through his hand and into me. “Focus on my voice, on my touch. Let everything else fade away.”

Another scream rips through the air, this one high and thin and filled with a despair so profound that it makes me moan into the pillow. It's the sound of someone being unmade, of a soul being split into a thousand pieces.

And through it all, Cassie's laughter weaves like a discordant melody, and she follows me all the way into oblivion.

13

KADEN

I don’t sleep. Instead, I stare at the door, eyes burning despite the weight of exhaustion pressing down.

Layla thrashes in her sleep beside me, her hair spilling across the pillow. She whimpers, caught in the throes of a nightmare, and my chest constricts. I move from my perch on the bed and lie down next to her, gathering her in my arms and chasing away the demons that haunt her.

Cassie has ceased her torture next door, as even monsters need to sleep. But the memory of her malicious laughter bounces around my skull, coupled with her jealous vitriol.

What I did with Layla, tucking her into bed and soothing her to sleep, wasn’t done with the intention of sending Cassie into a rage. Only in hindsight did I realize that watching such a thing would’ve been too much for my wayward daughter to handle.

Cameras are set up all around this suite—lenses in ceiling corners and listening devices under lampshades. My daughter has this room covered. No doubt that’s how she noticed me caring for Layla and treating her like a porcelain doll when I helped her to bed.

Cassie lashed out—not at Layla or me but at strangers in the adjacent suite.

So many observations hit me at once. I couldn’t fall asleep even if I wanted to. Cassie has a signature, even if she doesn’t know it. She locks us all in luxurious suites, surrounded by indulgence yet deprived of it at the same time. Before my arrival, Cassie had Layla bound, naked, and curled up on the expensive carpet as she tortured her.

Tortured.

My Wraithling at the mercy of my daughter. I can trace the map of pain Cassie left on Layla’s body. Each cut, scratch, and burn escalated in damage as more time went by and I hadn’t come yet. Layla’s pain was all for me. To punish, I suppose, and flay my heart open.

It worked.

However, Cassie doesn’t know how easily I can compartmentalize. I can put on my assassin’s mind like a second skin. Layla’s suffering kills me inside, but it doesn’t affect the Scythe.

I scan the room as him, running through each interaction with Cassie so far. I detach from emotion as I analyze Cassie's behavior, searching for patterns and pressure points. She's re-creating the traumas of her past, using this suite as a stage to act out her twisted fantasies. The lavish decor, the cameras, and the psychological torment are all designed to make us feel as helpless and abandoned as she once did.

I can start with the photos, the ones I sifted into a pile and tossed in the trash—but not before I noticed a glaring error on Cassie’s part.

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