She hadn't seen him since the night everything changed.
The silence was louder than any scream.
Her world had shifted-subtly, cruelly. The air felt heavier. Her skin tingled with a presence she couldn't name. And every time she closed her eyes, she felt him.
Not in memory.
In sensation.
It began with the dreams. Soft at first. A whisper of wind through trees she didn't recognize. A flicker of silver eyes in the dark. Then the forest. Then the clearing. Then him.
He stood there, barefoot and broken, as if the night itself had craved him from shadow. His voice was low, trembling. "You called me", He said.
But she hadn't.
She woke with a gasp, her breath caught between panic and longing. The room was quiet. Too quiet. Her mirror was fogged, through the air was still.
Three words shimmered in the condensation:
Don't fight it.
She stared. Her heart thudded against her ribs. Her collarbone burned. She pulled down her shirt and froze.
A mark.
Not a wound. Not a bruise.
A promise.
She tried to forget. She tried to resist. But each night, the dreams returned-more vivid, more real. And each morning, her body bore the evidence: symbols she couldn't read, warmth she couldn't explain.
And always, the whisper.
"If you dream of me again, I won't be able to leave."
She didn't know what that meant.
But she knew she dream again.