They only found each other when the world went quiet. Sleep came reluctantly to Reverie, always thin and restless, but when it finally claimed her, it carried her somewhere soft. A place stitched together from memory and want—moonlit water, pale grass bending without wind. She recognized it instantly. “Are you here?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Aiden stood a few steps away. Not as a presence, not as a pressure in the air—but whole. Solid. Human in the way he used to be, eyes dark and searching, like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. Every time, he looked at her like this might be the last chance. “I am,” he said, voice low, careful, as if speaking too loudly might break the dream. “I don’t know how long.” Reverie crossed the distance between them without thinking. She stopped just short of touching him—always just short. Some rule neither of them had named yet held her back, humming painfully in her chest. “You never stay,” she whispered. Not accusation. Just truth. Aiden’s jaw tightened. “I stay as long as I can.” In the waking world, he was everywhere and nowhere—watching, guarding, raging silently at threats she never even noticed. But here, in dreams, he was limited. Time slipped through his fingers like water. Still, he reached for her. His hand hovered near her wrist, close enough that she felt warmth ghost over her skin. “I watch you,” he admitted. “Every night. You talk in your sleep.”