instincts , and forced her eyes open to prove that nothing but discolored tiles surrounded her.
Shepherd wasn't there. He wasn't watching her, ready to rip out her throat.
Turning off the spray, Claire dried with a towel saturated in another man's scent—a man who had not once tried to hurt her... at least not yet. From his laundry, she pulled out the most pungent pieces, dressing in a sweater he must have exercised in and a pair of sweatpants that, knowing guys, probably had not been washed in weeks.
Standing at the mirror, she found queer green eyes in the reflection and wished she understood why the face looking back at her was filled with regret. Disgusted with that woman, Claire turned around and returned to the living room. Corday was still standing in the kitchen, eating his own meal. He nodded, his mouth full.
"I have no way to barter or repay you for the clothes right now. But when I can, I will." Her voice sounded nothing like her, it was the voice of a stranger.
When Corday saw her move toward the door, he swallowed quickly and approached with caution. "Ma'am, you're in shock. I don't think it's a good idea for you to be wandering the Dome. What you need is to rest, get your bearings. You will be safe here, if you need a place to regroup."
Everything he said seemed so sensible, even the weight of his hand on her shoulder, steering her back to the couch. Mechanically, Claire lay down. He covered her with a blanket and sleep hit her hard, a corner of her mind still marveling at the feeling of sun on her face.
#
Bad dreams began that very first night. Claire was running through Thólos, through smoke and evil. The buildings she climbed were ruins, many burning. Everything was decimated, just like the photos of Pre-Reformation War cities on visual in the Archives. No matter which direction she turned, she could not escape the mob at her back. The jeering faces of raging Alphas, violent Betas... they wanted to rip her to pieces because everything was her fault. She had sent the monster into a rage; she was the reason Thólos would know even more suffering.
Hands began to grip her clothes but she pressed forward, lungs burning as she tried to find any path through the smoke. She took a wrong turn, found herself trapped atop a broken viaduct, hounded and petrified. But then he was there in the darkness, waiting for her. Standing like a mountain, Shepherd reached out, beckoning her to him with the flick of his fingers.
With the dogs at her back and the devil before her, she did not know where to turn. All she could do was jump to her death.
Claire woke screaming.
Corday rushed from his bed, clicking on a torch to offer something besides the enforced dark of Thólos curfew.
"It's okay. You're safe, Claire." His voice came out soothing.
She threw her arms around the stranger and held on for dear life. "He'll find me here," she whispered, trembling. "He's already looking."
"He won't find you here. Do you understand? It was just a bad dream. Whoever he was cannot force you anymore. You're free, you get to choose."
I get to choose?
The words resonated, and she began to calm. Leaning back, wiping the snot and tears from her face, Claire fought to pull it together.
Illuminated by the small light, Corday asked, "Would you like me to sit up with you?"
Shaking her head, she answered in an unsteady voice, "No... I feel better now. Thank you."
She was lying, of course.
There was no more sleep that night; she simply sat on the couch and started at shadows. It was only when the sun came up, when she could feel the light, that Claire found the courage to shut her eyes.
#
Corday left a note on the coffee table notifying the sleeping girl that he'd gone to garner provisions. With so many dead, it did not take long to find forgotten shoes for feminine feet in a closet where neighbors dwelled no longer.
On the causeways, Shepherd's Followers marched, hyper-vigilant. Corday made sure to keep his head down, to bypass
Shepherd wasn't there. He wasn't watching her, ready to rip out her throat.
Turning off the spray, Claire dried with a towel saturated in another man's scent—a man who had not once tried to hurt her... at least not yet. From his laundry, she pulled out the most pungent pieces, dressing in a sweater he must have exercised in and a pair of sweatpants that, knowing guys, probably had not been washed in weeks.
Standing at the mirror, she found queer green eyes in the reflection and wished she understood why the face looking back at her was filled with regret. Disgusted with that woman, Claire turned around and returned to the living room. Corday was still standing in the kitchen, eating his own meal. He nodded, his mouth full.
"I have no way to barter or repay you for the clothes right now. But when I can, I will." Her voice sounded nothing like her, it was the voice of a stranger.
When Corday saw her move toward the door, he swallowed quickly and approached with caution. "Ma'am, you're in shock. I don't think it's a good idea for you to be wandering the Dome. What you need is to rest, get your bearings. You will be safe here, if you need a place to regroup."
Everything he said seemed so sensible, even the weight of his hand on her shoulder, steering her back to the couch. Mechanically, Claire lay down. He covered her with a blanket and sleep hit her hard, a corner of her mind still marveling at the feeling of sun on her face.
#
Bad dreams began that very first night. Claire was running through Thólos, through smoke and evil. The buildings she climbed were ruins, many burning. Everything was decimated, just like the photos of Pre-Reformation War cities on visual in the Archives. No matter which direction she turned, she could not escape the mob at her back. The jeering faces of raging Alphas, violent Betas... they wanted to rip her to pieces because everything was her fault. She had sent the monster into a rage; she was the reason Thólos would know even more suffering.
Hands began to grip her clothes but she pressed forward, lungs burning as she tried to find any path through the smoke. She took a wrong turn, found herself trapped atop a broken viaduct, hounded and petrified. But then he was there in the darkness, waiting for her. Standing like a mountain, Shepherd reached out, beckoning her to him with the flick of his fingers.
With the dogs at her back and the devil before her, she did not know where to turn. All she could do was jump to her death.
Claire woke screaming.
Corday rushed from his bed, clicking on a torch to offer something besides the enforced dark of Thólos curfew.
"It's okay. You're safe, Claire." His voice came out soothing.
She threw her arms around the stranger and held on for dear life. "He'll find me here," she whispered, trembling. "He's already looking."
"He won't find you here. Do you understand? It was just a bad dream. Whoever he was cannot force you anymore. You're free, you get to choose."
I get to choose?
The words resonated, and she began to calm. Leaning back, wiping the snot and tears from her face, Claire fought to pull it together.
Illuminated by the small light, Corday asked, "Would you like me to sit up with you?"
Shaking her head, she answered in an unsteady voice, "No... I feel better now. Thank you."
She was lying, of course.
There was no more sleep that night; she simply sat on the couch and started at shadows. It was only when the sun came up, when she could feel the light, that Claire found the courage to shut her eyes.
#
Corday left a note on the coffee table notifying the sleeping girl that he'd gone to garner provisions. With so many dead, it did not take long to find forgotten shoes for feminine feet in a closet where neighbors dwelled no longer.
On the causeways, Shepherd's Followers marched, hyper-vigilant. Corday made sure to keep his head down, to bypass
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