“Who are you?” Hazel croaked at a human-shaped silhouette occupying one of the chairs. A tattered brown winter coat obscured the back of the stranger’s head. Their features hidden in the depths of its thick folds.

Despite her question, they made no move to address her or even acknowledge her existence.

Hazel curled her sweat-slicked fingers around the knife’s handle. “What are you doing here?”

Her unwanted guest responded with a string of congested coughs. The nature of which was undeniably baritone.

What was the point of assigning an entire legion of infantry if anyone could just waltz into her room?

They didn’t move or acknowledge her. The figure’s shoulders slumped forward as another cough escaped. This time, a fine mist sprayed from his lips, splattering the coat’s sleeves, chair arms, and table.

What was more disturbing than the spittle spewing over her bedroom furniture was the fact that the liquid in question was an unnatural hue. It was like artificially colored berry jam, rich in tone but unsettlingly blue.

Bizarre. Hazel shuttered and detangled the blankets from her legs, “How did you even get in here?”

She slid her stocking feet to the floor and crept around the bed. One hand braced against the frame while the other held the knife aloft.

However, using the thing was still like trying to brush her teeth with her left hand, awkward and uncoordinated.

“Leo?” Hazel yelled, hoping the walls were thin enough for him to hear her distress. However, the intruder's uneven breathing was the only response.

She inched forward until her toe was met with a sickly wetness that nearly caused her to startle. Glancing down, her sock was soaking in a puddle of the jelly-like substance.

What in hell?

Hazel grimaced; the coughing intruder’s face was still concealed within the fabric confines of his coat. After a deep inhale, she pushed herself off the edge of the bed. Reaching toward the stranger, she let out a grunt, followed by a sharp tug, and yanked off his hood.

She flung herself back, her skin pulsing as if she’d pet one of Gaul’s eels, bracing for a strike.

Pushing the weapon higher between them, she hoped it would make her guest rethink whatever plans they might have had, sneaking into her room in the middle of the night.

As she slid in front of the chair, her socks met more puddles, but she hardly noticed.

Without the covering, the stranger’s identity rapidly took shape. Hazel’s own features melted into shock. Light grey eyes met hers. His irises were mirrors of his mother. Raw, reddened cuts and scratches littered every inch of visible skin, but the most unnerving part was the streaks of teal smudged over his skin and hair. On one foot, he wore a solitary boot. On the other was just a sludgy sock stained a nauseating navy, almost purple.

More of the goo dripped from his chin and lips as he finally smirked in an all too familiar way, “Hunting Seven?” He tilted his head, attention falling to the blade. “Or being hunted, maybe ?”

Ethan merely watched her as she dropped the blade and scrambled back. Without looking, she gripped the other chair to steady herself, but it was no match for her rising hysteria.

She was pulled down with it, sprawling on the floor. “Not you too….” She choked. It hadn’t been enough that her mind would torture her with Ruby. This isn’t happening. It isn’t real.

Ripping her disheveled hair out of her vision, she stared up at the boy to whom she owed her life.

“Graceful as ever, Seven.” He winced before letting out another round of coughs, and more teal liquid sprayed out around him. A pungent odor followed; the acid of the spider’s blood assaulted her nose, and her eyes began to water.

Recovering from his coughing spell, he watched her scoot back from him on the floor, the humor fading into sympathy. Finally, he croaked, “Promise me something?”

Promise? Hazel froze at the word, memories drowning her senses.

‘Promise me you'll get her out of here and keep her safe.’ Ethan’s voice played in her ears, followed by the sounds of the monstrous spider’s body crushing Ethan’s beneath it.

A wide laceration snaked across Ruby's collarbone. It trailed along her throat, ending just under her ear; a necklace of dark purple and blue discoloration was just beneath it.

‘Please.’ A sob wracked Hazel’s body as she placed a finger against Ruby's delicate jugular.

Still, no warmth and no pulse of life met her fingers, only the iciness of Ruby's bloodless skin.

This is just another nightmare.

“I’m sorry, Twelve.” She pressed her palms back over her eyes.

Ethan’s grey features steeled, “Don’t let him get away with this.”

What has that monster done? Ethan took down Gaul’s mutation, but it seemed he could never overcome his real enemy. Pity struck her like one of his arrows, which was quickly followed by a rush of helplessness.

If he couldn’t do it, how does he expect me to? I didn’t keep my promise last time. Why would now be any different?

“I can’t.” Hazel whimpered.

Ethan’s sigh filled the room, followed by another cough. “It’s your turn, now.”

Her heart lurched within her at the sharp bite of grief that suddenly overwhelmed her. Wake up.

A light breeze pulled at her hair like a window had been opened. It licked along her skin like a warm summer day, and then it was gone. Stillness settled over everything like all of the air had been siphoned out.

Hazel pulled her hands from her face, refocusing on the seat where Ethan had been, but it was empty. The only remnants of him were the blue-tinged smudges.

Silus's voice met the backs of her ears in a haunting whisper. “Haze.”

Rising to her feet, she spun around, but no one was there. Only the lost weapon and one tipped-over chair. “I’m not crazy.” Her voice wavered. Even her vocal cords were unconvinced.

“It really is getting questionable, though, isn’t it?” She jumped as a new visitor entered her nightmare scape. Her heart rate spiked as her body recognized who it was before her mind did.

Spinning back around, she realized that Ethan’s seat was once again occupied. However, this time, it was by a particularly smug Senator. His suit was his signature maroon one, his white flower pristine as ever. Shiny black dress shoes tapped a subtle rhythm against the flooring.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Ugh. Not now.

“Why are you the only living person who really haunts me?”

Snow reclined, crossing one leg over the other, “Now, that’s a question worth asking yourself.”

Hazel scoffed, “Isn’t that what I’m doing? You are just a creation of my mind.”

Snow smiled for a brief moment before something on his arm pulled away his gaze. Hazel followed his scrutiny. A streak of blue marred his perfectly pressed cuff. “You’re right. You’d never catch me dead in a chair this disgusting in reality.” He plucked a fresh handkerchief from his coat pocket, blotting at the smear. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

Hazel shook her head at the ridiculousness of the entire situation, pressing her fingers against her temples. Wake up. But, no matter how hard she pressed against her own skin, the dream remained solidly in place.

“Think it will stain?” he said as he studied his sleeve.

“One can only hope, Senator.” Hazel let her hands drop to her sides.

A blonde eyebrow twitched, “I thought I told you to call me Coriolanus?”

“Well, you’re not actually him,” Hazel bit back, crossing her arms over her chest. “So I’ll call you whatever I damn well please.”

“Still clinging to the reins, I see.” The man unfolded himself, rising to his full height with another disgusted grimace at the chair.

“Familiar territory?” Who was this ghost to lecture her about control?

Snow tilted his head to the side, taking a long stride toward her, “You’re deflecting.”

“You’re projecting.” Hazel’s eyes narrowed.

A small laugh fell from his lips as he drew nearer, purposefully avoiding the spider puddles. “Why am I the only living person to visit you here with any kind of regularity?” His attention dragged over her like a blade. Slicing over her skin from head to blueberry-tinged toes. “You summoned me. Not your new favorite peacekeeper. Not your escort, your mentor, or either of your doctors. Not your family…” His voice dipped, “Me.”

Hazel matched his next forward stride with a backward one, but it did little to keep space between them. “My dreams are something I absolutely have no control over.”

“No?” Within another moment, he was before her. Clenching her teeth together, she prayed he didn’t notice her pulse dancing against the skin of her neck. He smirked but turned to move past her, his shoulder brushing hers. “Maybe it is because your unconscious understands a truth you refuse to acknowledge.” As he passed, he leaned to the side, whispering into her ear. “At least during daylight hours.”

Hazel scoffed, shaking her head as she subtly shifted, ensuring the man stayed within her line of sight. Even as a ghost, he was infuriating.

Snow’s smirk deepened, his focus falling on the abandoned knife. He crouched and retrieved it, running a gloved finger over the tip of the blade. “That is why I am here instead of them, Miss Marlowe. They don’t understand people like us.”

Hazel blanched, “There is no us.”

Snow tutted softly. “Delusion is one of the most dangerous of poisons.”

“Then you must be drowning in it.”

His eyes snapped to hers, crackling like fissuring ice. “Says the girl who can’t seem to keep me out of her dreams.”

Snow moved forward, circling her like a peregrine choosing his moment. The obsidian blade glittered like a deadly promise as he twirled it in his palm.

“You are acting like it was an invitation instead of an invasion, Senator.”

He raised a gloved hand in a wide, sweeping gesture at their surroundings. The knife in his hand spun, emphasizing his point. “This is your dream. You are acting like it is someone else’s.”

She retreated a step, her damp heel grazing the upturned leg of the toppled chair. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“And yet—” He gestured to his imposing frame, from his polished dress shoes to the pristine flower pinned to his lapel. “Here I am.”

He again matched her backward stride with a forward one. The letters “LD” were practically gaping at her from the handle.

Clearly, he was drawing far too much entertainment from her discomfort. It was only fair to let him have a taste of his own.

“Maybe you are right, at least partially.” She said, “Maybe I just brought you here to practice for your eventual assassination.”

Both blonde brows rose this time, “I would love to see you try.” Snow’s mouth curved upward as well. "I’m at your mercy, after all."

He closed the gap between them so near that Hazel could see the faint glimmer of teal against his cuff where he’d wiped away the spider’s blood.

She started to take another step away when he ensnared her bicep.

Hazel forced herself to meet his eyes. “What…what are you doing?” she stuttered at the strain of his sudden proximity.

He leaned in, the space between them dissolving faster than she thought possible. “You tell me,” he whispered.

“This isn’t real,” she managed.

His grip slackened, his hand falling away as he released her arm. For a moment, she felt as though he may retreat. But his hand rose again, fingertips hovering just shy of her jawline. “Maybe a part of you wants it to be.”

She froze, her breath catching in her throat as his eyes lingered on her. Hazel turned her face away as he leaned in. The scent of flowers, marshmallows, and iron slid along the curve of her ear. It wasn’t quite right, more like a watered-down shadow of his scent. It was a dream. It had to be. But why did it feel so damningly real?

Finding a point on the floor, she stared at it. Each second made it harder to ground her nerves. Wake up, Hazel.

“Look at me,” he murmured against the shell of her ear.

She didn’t. Wake up, damn it!

Snow’s leather-clad fingertips brushed along her jaw, trailing downward until they settled on her chin. She startled, her eyes snapping back to him. He was much closer now. Too close.

His irises were like the Alpine on a summer day when the water turned nearly translucent as it crashed over its many boulders.

His fingers tightened a fraction, applying just enough pressure to tilt her face toward him. Hazel flinched under the touch, her every instinct screaming to shove him away.

He studied her with a probing gaze that she swore that more than one lab rat would have found familiar.

“You want control. So do I,” he murmured, the pad of his thumb tapping a soft rhythm against her jaw.

Hazel’s chest constricted as she pulled her chin from his grasp, “You and your ghost can stop trying to convince me we are the same.”

“I’m trying to convince you that I can give you what you want.” Before she could retreat, his fingers encircled her jaw again like he was holding a delicate vase. Firm enough to still but gentle enough to avoid breaking.

“You think this is what I want?” She breathed.

His eyes trailed downward, the descent of which sent prickles scurrying across her skin. “It sure as hell can’t be a measly pocket knife or tethered life.”

Hazel's heart rate spiked, fingernails carving dainty half-moons into her palms. “Like you said, it is delusional to think that I won’t always be leashed.”

“Hmm, but who do you want holding the other end?” he replied. “I can give that to you.” His crystalline irises bored into hers. “And only I can.”

With a feather-light touch, he replaced the knife within her trembling grasp. He curled her fingers around it beneath his own. “Wager I can even help you keep your promises.”

“Don’t,” she whispered harshly. This isn’t real.

“You can end this whenever you want.” He pulled back slightly, letting his hand fall away from hers. Amusement swam in his eyes as he searched the air around them like he was waiting for the dream to dissolve at any moment. Yet, it remained.

Gripping the knife, she raised it between them, pressing the blade sideways against his chest.

He stilled, glancing downward at the blade poised against him. Yet, instead of bristling with anger or recoiling in shock, an unsettling, amused intensity pooled in his eyes. “Would you do it if you had the chance?”

Would she? She had to admit that sometimes, the thought was tempting. But, it would be a death sentence for them both and probably her entire family. Mutually assured destruction at its finest.

He practically oozed with satisfaction at her lack of response. His free hand suddenly pressed against her back, pulling her closer. The blade’s edge slid upward until it hooked on his elegant collar.

As if she were holding a toothpick against him, he bent closer, the tip of his nose sliding along her cheek.

Hazel's body was like a thousand-pound log, unmovable despite all her efforts. A log on fire. Her limbs rebelled, and her muscles strained, but the knife remained still.

Undaunted, Snow’s lips ghosted over the edge of her jawline, his rose-soaked breath seeping into her skin.

She pressed her free palm to his chest. Her arm felt bloodless yet sparkled with cold fire as the petals of his flower brushed her fingers. Hazel squeezed her eyes shut as her pulse fractured into erratic beats. Wake up. Wake up.

Snow’s voice pressed closer, as did she suspect his body. “Unless…” The aroma of sugar and roses swirled around her. “You don’t want to.” His breath was warm, floating down over her mouth now like he was breathing in the air from her lungs.

He leaned further in, closing the infinitesimal gap. Just as she swore, she felt the softness of his lips graze the corner of her own. She gasped-and her eyes snapped open. Any air left in her lungs instantly vanished along with her dream.

Jolting upright. She was still in Indira’s clothes, lying sideways across her bed. Her hand clutched Leo’s knife. Her room was bright, the lamp glowing beside her.

Peeling herself from the mattress, her heart rate was still pounding away like an axeblade thwacking repeatedly into a sap-drunk trunk. She dropped the weapon on the bed, pressing her palms over her eyes.

I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. She chanted it to herself over and over, raking her shaking fingers through her nightmare-gnarled hair. However, her hesitation to push away Snow unnerved her more than any horrifying imagery. Heat crawled up her neck to her cheeks. Was she pushing him away? Yes, of course she was. It was just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.

Just when she felt almost convinced, damming the flood of doubts, something out of place caught in her periphery. She settled her scrutiny on the center of her bedroom. Her heart sank, and her hands stilled. One of her two chairs was out of place, lying haphazardly on its side.