In the middle of the night, the air in the room in the South Villa was heavy with heat, the kind that clung damp and sticky to your skin like wet plastic while every breath suffocated your lungs.
Micah jolted awake from yet another nightmare. His heart pounded wildly, each thump rattling against his ribs, his hands trembling as they clutched the sheets.
He blinked into the darkness, but nothing came to his mind. It was like this every time he woke up. He couldn't remember anything, except a raw, intense grief.
"Dammit…" he whispered hoarsely, dragging the back of his hand across his damp lashes. His throat was dry, the taste of salt clinging to the back of his tongue.
He turned his face toward the balcony. "Oh…"
The wind had rattled the latches loose, slamming the door shut.
The air in the room had become hot and humid because of that. The fan above his head spun sluggishly and had no power to cool him down.
