Chapter 6

Sera POV

The Hale family condo sat on the fifteenth floor of a glass tower that probably cost more than most people made in a lifetime. I stood in the marble lobby, clutching my single duffel bag and feeling like an imposter in designer jeans.

"You sure about this?" I ask Bri for the third time as we waited for the elevator.

"Stop second-guessing yourself. My parents offered because they want to help, not because they pity you."

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing mirrors on three walls and buttons that gleamed like they'd been polished minutes ago. I caught sight of myself from multiple angles—tired eyes, cheap clothes, everything screaming that I didn't belong here.

"Floor fifteen," Bri announced unnecessarily, pressing the button with a manicured finger. "Penthouse adjacent. You're practically royalty now."

"I feel like I'm about to break something just by breathing."

"You're not going to break anything. Well, probably not. Just don't touch the vase in the entryway. It's apparently worth more than your car."

"I don't have a car."

"Exactly my point."

The elevator climbed smoothly, my ears popping slightly. Through the glass walls of the building, the city spread out below us like a postcard. I'd never lived this high up before. My old apartment was on the second floor of a building where the elevator had been broken for six months.

"Here we are." Bri produced a key from her purse, holding it out to me like she was presenting a crown jewel. "Your castle awaits, princess."

The key felt heavier than it should have in my palm. Solid, expensive, with a weight that spoke of locks that actually worked and doors that didn't stick.

The condo was worse than I'd imagined—which was to say, it was absolutely perfect. Hardwood floors gleamed under recessed lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of downtown. The kitchen had granite countertops and appliances that looked like they belonged in a magazine.

"This is insane," I breathed, setting my duffel bag down carefully on the spotless floor.

"This is normal," Bri corrected, wandering over to the windows. "Well, normal for people with money. You'll get used to it."

I walked through the living room like I was touring a museum. Everything was cream and gold and perfectly coordinated. The couch probably cost more than my semester's tuition. The coffee table was actual marble, not the particle board stuff covered in wood-grain contact paper that I was used to.

"Where am I supposed to put my things?" I asked.

"Everywhere. That's the point of having space." Bri opened what looked like a closet door, revealing a bedroom that was bigger than my entire old apartment. "Master suite. Walk-in closet, en-suite bathroom with a tub you could swim laps in."

The bedroom was decorated in soft blues and whites, with a bed that looked like a cloud and windows that faced east toward the river. I touched the comforter tentatively—silk, or something equally impractical and expensive.

"Bri, I can't live here."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not me. Because I don't know how to live somewhere this nice. Because I'll spend every minute terrified of ruining something."

She sat on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her. "Remember when we first met freshman year? You were convinced you didn't belong at university either."

"That was different."

"Was it? You had a scholarship, just like half the other students. You were smart enough to be there, just like everyone else. The only difference was that you couldn't afford it without help."

I perched carefully beside her, still afraid the expensive bedding would somehow sense my unworthiness.

"This is temporary," I said.

"Everything's temporary if you think about it long enough. The point is to enjoy it while it lasts."

I wanted to argue, but the exhaustion was catching up with me. The stress of the party, the move, the looming internship—it all felt like weights strapped to my shoulders.

"I should unpack," I said.

"You should nap. You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I haven't slept well in days. The dreams..."

"Still having weird dreams?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to elaborate. How do you explain that your dreams felt more real than your waking life? That you kept seeing places you'd never been and people you'd never met, but who felt more familiar than your own reflection?

"Stress dreams," Bri said, like she was diagnosing me. "They'll go away once you settle in. New place, new energy. You'll see."

After she left, I stood alone in the middle of the living room, listening to the silence. It was a different kind of quiet than my old apartment—no traffic noise, no neighbors arguing through thin walls, no sirens in the distance. Just the soft hum of expensive air conditioning and the whisper of wind against sealed windows.

I unpacked my pathetic collection of belongings, trying to distribute them around the condo so it wouldn't look quite so empty. My thrift store clothes looked ridiculous in the walk-in closet, hanging next to empty spaces that seemed to mock my poverty. My books barely filled one shelf of the massive built-in bookcase.

The bathroom was the worst. A marble temple to excess, with a shower that had more settings than my car—well, than Bri's car, since I didn't have one. The tub was indeed big enough to swim in, surrounded by windows that offered a view of the entire city.

I ran a bath, partly because I could and partly because I was afraid to shower in something so complicated. The hot water felt like luxury against my skin, and for the first time in months, I let myself truly relax.

That's when the dreams found me.

Even in the bathtub, eyes closed in the steam, I was running again. But this time it wasn't a forest—it was the city, but wrong somehow. The buildings were the same, but older, covered in vines and shadows that moved independently of any light source. I was wearing a white dress that flowed behind me like smoke, and my feet were bare against stone streets that shouldn't exist.

Something was chasing me, but I couldn't see what. I could only feel its presence, ancient and angry and getting closer. I turned down an alley that led to a dead end, spinning around to face whatever hunted me.

A figure stepped from the shadows—tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes that reflected light like an animal's. He reached out a hand, and I saw claws instead of fingernails.

"You cannot run forever," he said, and his voice was layered, like multiple people speaking at once.

I opened my mouth to scream, and—

I jerked awake in the tub, water sloshing over the marble edges. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I could taste copper in my mouth. I touched my lips and my fingers came away red.

I'd bitten my tongue hard enough to draw blood.

"Just a dream," I whispered to the empty bathroom. "Just stress."

But as I climbed out of the tub and wrapped myself in a towel that probably cost more than my monthly grocery budget, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. For just a moment, I could have sworn I saw scratches on my arms, like something had grabbed me.

But when I looked directly, there was nothing. Just pale skin and the fading marks from where I'd gripped the tub edges too tightly.

I dressed quickly and made myself dinner from the few groceries Bri had insisted we buy on the way over. Even cooking felt strange in the pristine kitchen, like I was playing house in a space that would never truly belong to me.

The sun set over the city, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that I'd never been high enough to see before. It was beautiful, but it also felt lonely. All that space, all that luxury, and no one to share it with.

I tried calling my old neighbors to let them know I'd moved safely, but realized I didn't actually have their numbers. I'd lived next to these people for two years and barely knew their names. The thought made my chest tight with something that might have been regret.

Tomorrow was Sunday. One more day to get used to this place, to convince myself I belonged here, before Monday arrived and I had to pretend to be competent and professional at the most important job I'd ever had.

I curled up on the impossibly soft couch and tried to watch TV, but every channel seemed to be selling me a lifestyle I couldn't afford or understand. Eventually, I gave up and went to bed early, hoping the expensive mattress and thread count would somehow keep the dreams at bay.

They didn't. If anything, they got worse.

But this time, when I woke up at 3am with the taste of blood in my mouth and the sound of my own screaming echoing in my ear

s, I was alone in a place where no one could hear me fall apart.

Maybe that was worse than the dreams themselves.