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Flames dance around me, licking at my skin, curling through my hair. The air is heavy with smoke and the acrid scent of burning metal. I’m screaming, but it feels like the sound is being sucked away, devoured by the roar of the fire. Somewhere nearby, Mark is shouting too—sharp, panicked cries cutting through the chaos.

And then, suddenly, silence.

I whip my head toward him, desperate to see his face, to hear his voice again, but he’s gone. The seat next to me is empty. The world tilts, and I’m thrown to the ground, my leg—oh, fuck, my leg—caught beneath something heavy. Twisted. Broken. The agony is blinding, but I can’t stop. I claw at the ground, dragging myself forward, my hands sinking into ash and debris.

“Nick!”

The voice pierces the cacophony, rising above the fire. It’s distant, distorted, but achingly familiar. I turn, my vision swimming, my breath hitching, and there she is.

Charlie.

Her eyes are wide, terrified, her face streaked with soot…

No…

Blood!

Her lips form my name again, but no sound reaches me. Flames coil around her legs, creeping upward, consuming her, and still, she reaches for me, her hand outstretched, her fingers trembling.

I try to move, to pull myself toward her, but every inch is torture. My body screams at me to stop, but I can’t. I won’t.

She’s slipping away, her form fading into the inferno.

“Charlie!” I cry out, her name tearing from my throat like a weapon.

I wake with a jolt, my body lurching upright. The room is dark, the air heavy and oppressive, my chest heaving as I struggle to breathe. My skin is drenched in sweat, the sheets beneath me twisted and damp.

“Nick!”

The voice is real this time. Soft and urgent. My eyes blink open. My hands fly up.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Charlie says, her voice steady as she pulls back, honoring my request that she keep her distance when I’m having an episode. “You’re having a nightmare. It’s over. You’re safe. Look at me.”

Her brown eyes are wide with concern, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. She’s not hurt. She’s not bleeding. She’s here, whole and real and alive.

I exhale shakily, my hands finding her waist as I pull her close, pressing my forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, my voice hoarse.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she whispers, her breath warm against my skin. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

But I don’t feel okay. The nightmare clings to me, vivid and relentless, the smell of smoke still thick in my nostrils, the weight of Mark’s absence like a physical ache in my chest.

“I thought I was done with those,” I admit, my voice barely audible.

Charlie’s hands stroke my face, her touch soft but sure. “Me too, honey. Me too.”

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, but every time I blink, I see her face from the dream—twisted in pain, reaching for me, slipping away. It’s a look I can’t shake.

“Do you think it’s because of the conversation you had with Kate?” she asks gently, her fingers brushing through my damp hair.

“Maybe,” I reply, my voice raw. The memory of Kate’s visit sits heavy in my mind, her haunted eyes a mirror of my own.

Charlie presses a kiss to my temple, her lips lingering like she’s trying to soothe the ache inside me. “Whatever it is,” she says softly, “you don’t have to face it alone.”

Her words wrap around me like a lifeline, and I pull her closer, burying my face in the curve of her neck. Her warmth seeps into me, chasing away the lingering chill of the nightmare.

Eager to move out of the darkness and back into the light, I slap her ass, intending to segue into a discussion about showers and the possibility of breakfast. But she feels so good in my hand, I give it a squeeze, a low groan of appreciation sounding in my throat. “Damn, Charlie. I don’t know if you realize this, but you’ve got me more whipped than a bowl of fresh cream.”

She bursts into laughter. “Oh my goodness! Again with the cheese!”

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