I screamed.
"ADRIEN!"
My body jolted upright, breath tearing out of my chest as though I had been dragged from water. My heart slammed violently against my ribs, fast—too fast—panic still gripping my veins.
My nightdress clung to my skin.
Cold.
I looked down.
No sweat.
My body wasn't wet. My sheets weren't soaked. Nothing around me showed signs of the terror that had just ripped through my mind.
But the fear?
Still there.
Alive.
Burning.
I pressed a trembling hand to my chest, struggling to breathe as the images refused to leave me.
A child.
A little boy.
Dark hair. Small hands. Big frightened eyes.
A room too cold for a child to sleep in.
Water splashing violently against his small body. His gasp. His cry. His tiny frame shaking on the floor while someone stood over him—calm, smiling, cruel.
My vision blurred.
"Adrien…" I whispered again, my voice breaking.
The name felt wrong in my mouth.
Too familiar.
Too painful.
I had never had a son.
