Page 40 of Shackled By Shadows

I don’t.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect. The smooth lines of his body, the way his muscles curve and dip down . . . my eyes follow the trail.

Focus, Lyra!

I shake my head hard, banishing the unwelcome thoughts. “Oberon! What the hell are you doing? Get off me!”

Oberon exhales a breath of relief and shifts off me, sitting himself at the edge of the bed. His back is to me now, but I can still see the tension in his shoulders.

My blood boils for reasons I don’t want to unpack.

“You were dreaming,” he says at last. His voice is lower than usual, lacking its signature sharp edge. “It must have been a hell of a nightmare. I could hear you from down the hall.”

I pause.

Is that . . . worry etched into his face when he looks back at me?

No. It can’t be.

“I’m fine.” My voice is hoarse, cracking with the brittle lie.

“You’re not.”

I force myself to look away. “They’re just dreams.”

“Are they?” His voice is quiet, coaxing.

“Dreams don’t leave you gasping like this.”

I swallow hard, pulling my knees to my chest.

“They don’t let go easily,” he continues, settling deeper into the bed. “Memories. They cling to the dark.” Something in his tone makes me glance at him. The candlelight captures the exhaustion carved beneath his eyes.

“You don’t sleep much either?” I murmur.

A faint smile curves his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No. I don’t. Can’t.”

“Why?”

For a moment, he says nothing. His gaze drifts to his hands, fingers resting lightly on his knees, too still. “The memories,” he says at last. “Some things don’t stay buried.”

The words resonate too deeply. I squeeze my eyes shut, looking away. “So, we’re both haunted,” I say, attempting levity. It falls flat.

Oberon doesn’t smile this time. He leans forward, voice dropping. “I’ve learned something about memories.” I don’t respond. “They demand to be seen. No matter how deep you bury them.”

The room feels smaller, as though the walls are closing in. “I don’t want to see them,” I whisper.

“I know.” His voice is impossibly soft. “But they’re still there, aren’t they? Waiting. Hunting you in the dark.”

I press my forehead to my knees. “You don’t understand.”

“I do.” The quiet certainty in his voice startles me. “And I know what happens when you try to face them alone.”

His hand lifts, but he doesn’t touch me. His fingers hover near my shoulder, warm and steady, as if waiting for permission. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says. “But if you don’t let it out, it will keep devouring you.”

Tears sting my eyes. I hate how close his words strike. “They broke me.” The admission tears from me before I can stop it, my voice trembling, barely above a whisper. “Piece by piece. Until I wasn’t me anymore.”

Oberon’s hand settles lightly on my shoulder. The touch is warm and grounding. “They didn’t break you.” His voice is low, sure. “You’re still here. You’re still you.”