Catherine's Pov
The nightmare faded, not into peace, but into something more realistically blinding. The opulent, terrifying house was gone, its dark walls dissolving into the familiar, warm-toned paint of our own kitchen. But the familiarity was a lie. The room was a chaotic mess.
A chair was overturned near the table, a glass lay shattered on the floor, its pieces glittering under the overhead light. And I was pressed hard against the cold granite countertop, my hands gripping the handle of a kitchen knife that was buried deep in Soren's chest.
