A woman.

They were dragging a woman in.

She was screaming, shredded clothes just barely hanging on to her body. Being tugged and pulled by bound wrists and strong enemy hands.

They tied her to the chair across from him, her matted hair falling in front of her face, dirty skin damaged from the abuse.

Once tied with her still whimpering, one soldier grabbed her hair, and yanked her head up to reveal her face.

It was you.

Simon’s heart had never dropped so fast.

He’s never felt this scared before.

The enemy soldier held a knife to your throat. “Start speaking or she’s dead.”

How did they even find you?

Simon’s mouth was taped shut, probably looking just as bloodied and beat up.

He couldn’t speak. Even if he wanted to.

Don’t kill her, don’t kill her—

Over and over in his head.

He watched as the knife pressed harder.

They’re going to kill her, they’re going to kill her—

“Start speaking.”

He can’t.

The knife swiped brutally across her throat, gone.

He startled upright in bed, panting, sticky all over with sweat, a pounding in his heart.

A gentle hand found his bare shoulder. He flinched, turning and raising a hand in defense—

It was you.

Only a dream.