"Where are you going?"Alister asked, his voice calm but dripping with malice. He raised his hand casually, as if reaching for her.
Irene froze. She couldn't move, couldn't even blink. Her limbs refused to obey her as Allister's fingers curled into a tight fist. Instantly, a sharp, excruciating pain exploded in her head, forcing a scream from her lips. The pain was unbearable, as though her skull were being crushed from the inside.
Her vision blurred. The room, the throne, the abyss—all of it faded into nothingness. Irene felt herself falling, spiraling down into a pit of endless darkness.
She jolted awake with a gasp, her body drenched in cold sweat. Her chest heaved as she hyperventilated, her trembling hands clutching the sheets. The room was silent, the kind of silence that pressed against her ears and made her feel suffocated.
Her eyes darted around, frantically searching for any sign of familiarity. But then she saw it—something lurking in the shadowed corner of her room. At first, it was just a shape, indistinct and ominous. But as her eyes adjusted, the figure came into focus.
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It was him. Allister.
Terror surged through her veins, her body paralyzed for a split second before instinct took over. As Allister began to stride toward her bed, she scrambled backward, her sheets tangling around her legs. She fell hard onto the floor but didn't stop, crawling away as fast as she could. Her back hit the wall, and she pressed herself against it, her wide, tear-filled eyes locked on his towering figure.
Allister crouched down in front of her, his red eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. He was close—too close. The corners of his lips curled into a sly smile that sent a fresh wave of fear coursing through her.
"So, it's really you," he said, his voice low and sinister, carrying a weight of inevitability. "She'll be pleased to hear about this."
Irene's breath hitched. She squeezed her eyes shut, pulling her knees to her chest, and began to sob. Her entire body trembled, her mind begging to wake up from whatever nightmare this was.
Suddenly, a brilliant flash of light pierced through her closed eyelids. She flinched, opening her eyes cautiously. The room was empty. Allister was gone.
Standing in the doorway was Jericho, his silhouette framed by the hallway light spilling into her room. His face was etched with concern as he took in her trembling form.
"Irene?" he said softly, stepping closer.
Relief and exhaustion crashed over her all at once. She couldn't speak, her sobs choking any words she might have formed. But the sight of Jericho, solid and real, felt like the first breath of air after drowning.