Chapter 19
“Ghosts in the Dark
The scream cracked the silence of the night like lightning–splitting stone.
Ares bolted upright in bed, heart hammering, breath coming in ragged bursts. Sweat clung to his
back, soaking the fine cotton shirt twisted against his skin. The sheets were tangled around his
legs like shackles, his cane knocked to the floor during some forgotten struggle in sleep.
He blinked wildly, shadows clawing across the room. The fireplace was cold. The air is stale. He
couldn’t remember the nightmare. Only a name remained on his lips, whispered into the dark
with the desperation of a drowning man.
“Selene…”
He clutched his chest, fingers trembling. It had been years. He hadn’t spoken her name aloud in
months, maybe longer. But in dreams, she never left him.
He swung his legs off the bed, fumbling for the edge of the nightstand, searching for control in
the dark.
Then the door creaked open.
Not slammed. Not hurried. Just a soft groan of aged wood, barely perceptible over his shaking
breath.
She stood there.
The nurse.
Still masked and covered, her silhouette was outlined by the dim light from the hallway. She moved
swiftly to his side, not saying a word. A bottle of water appeared in her hand. She offered it. He
took it without thinking.
“You had a bad dream,” she said, voice soft, low, almost apologetic.
He didn’t answer. Just stared at her as he sipped, the water grounding him.
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“I heard you from the corridor,” she continued.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asked, throat raw,
“A while.”
His brow furrowed. “Why?”
“In case you needed me.”
“You’re not my keeper.”
“No,” she said quietly. “But someone has to be.”
Ares stared at her gloved hands. One held the bottle. The other reached forward, hesitated,
then lightly brushed a damp strand of hair from his forehead.
Her touch was electric too soft, too deliberate. Familiar.
He grabbed her wrist.
She stilled.
His fingers tightened, not in threat, but in recognition. His pulse pounded through his fingertips,
racing against the rhythm of beneath the skin.
“You’ve touched me before,” he said, voice dark.
She didn’t speak.
“You know things no one else knows,” he pressed. “You walk like you belong here. You talk like
you’ve seen me bleed.”
Still, she said nothing.
He narrowed his eyes, his grip firming. “Tell me your name.”
She shook her head slowly.
“I’m not playing anymore,” he whispered.
Her breath caught he felt it in the sudden stillness of her body. The slight tremble in her wrist.
He leaned in, eyes locked on hers.
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“I know you
The words left him like a blade winsheathed.
Her eyes widened. Just a fraction. Enough.
He didn’t let go.
And neither did she.
Not with her silence.
Not with her eyes.
Not with the truth that pressed between them like a fire waiting to catch.
The darkness thickened. Neither moved. Neither blinked.
Then, she slowly pulled her hand free. Not with force but with purpose.
She stepped back.
And vanished into the corridor without a word.
Ares sat frozen, his own heartbeat the only sound echoing through the room.
The name on his lips hadn’t been a dream after all.
It had been a memory.
Awakened.
Morning came with a sting. Ares didn’t sleep again.
Instead, he sat in the armchair near the window, staring out over the Calloway estate as the first
light spilled over the rooftop gardens. He barely registered it. His mind kept turning over every
word, every touch, every breath the nurse had stolen into the night before,
She was playing a game.
And now, so was he.
When she entered his study that morning, tray in hand, silent as ever, he was ready.
“You ever been to Amalfi?” he asked.
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She set down the tray, careful not to clatter the porcelain. “Once.”
“Pretty view.”
“Very.”
“Blue cliffs, white wine. Soft winds in June.”
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