June's POV
I woke up drowning.
Not in water. Not in blood.
In visions.
The men in white coats had reached for me again—gloved hands, the smell of antiseptic and ammonia choking me. My adopted father was calling me sweetly, the way he used to when he wanted to do something horrible. Then Justin appeared.
Only it wasn't him anymore. His face peeled, stretched, turned—mutated. His eyes were obsidian pits, and from his mouth spilled laughter that didn't belong to him. That laughter belonged to the gods of nightmare.
And then, as suddenly as it began, they let go.
I shot up in bed, gasping. My sheets were tangled around my legs like restraints. The clock on the nightstand read 12:02 a.m. Midnight.
I needed a fucking drink.
They had to have a bar somewhere in this damn town. Somewhere dark, loud, and mindless. Somewhere the voices wouldn't follow.
But they always did.
