"Ah!"
A sound close to a shout tore from Azriel's lips. Drenched in sweat, he pushed himself upright, the sheets clinging to his bare torso. His teeth ground together as he staggered to his feet. His body trembled, shivers running wild beneath his skin.
'What was that…?'
Those hands—right before he woke.
He'd barely gotten a proper glimpse, yet the instant he did he felt something… something truly evil.
Pure evil.
A strange, nostalgic ache lodged itself in Azriel's chest as the memory of those hands surfaced.
'Where have I seen them before…?'
But he hadn't.
Azriel couldn't recall a single day he'd witnessed anything so horrifying.
Even without a headache, it felt like he had one. Nausea crawled through him.
'Why would such a thing appear in my mind?'
He clutched his arms, trying to steady the tremor.
"What is this…? Am I afraid…?"
