Color-Gifted (Color-Gifted, #1)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“You have to tell her the truth.” A hushed voice rustles softly in my head like a fall breeze.

“I—I can’t. It’s too dangerous.” I know this voice, more familiar than the first.

“Cass—it already is dangerous.” The man is insistent. I try to open my eyes but my eyelids are too heavy, and I can’t muster the strength to move or make a sound. So I listen. “We can’t hide this from her anymore. She needs to know.”

The woman doesn’t answer. There is a pause, and then the man speaks again. His tone is softer this time. “Hiding the prophecy from her won’t protect her anymore. She needs to know the truth, for her own sake. For my sake.” Pain weighs on his voice, and it becomes rushed. “I can’t do this anymore, Cassie. Do you know how painful this is for me, seeing her everyday and not being able to touch her? To tell her?”

There is another pause, and then the woman speaks again, her voice soft and pained. “You’re right.” She sighs. “But we’ve been doing this for so long, and . . . it’s hard. I’m scared, Christopher.”

Christopher.

I freeze.

Mom.

Realization shoots through me like adrenaline and my eyes fly open. I’m lying on my bed in my cabin; my mother and Christopher are sitting at the little kitchen table, their heads bent close together as they try to keep their conversation quiet.

A small gasp escapes my lips, and their heads snap to me in unison. My mom rushes over to my bed and leans in, pushing back hair from my forehead. It’s only been a month since I’ve last seen her, but the worry on her faces makes her seem much older. Worn down. “Megan, honey, are you okay? How are you feeling?”

My throat is so dry, I can barely swallow. “Water,” I croak.

Christopher pulls out a water bottle from the mini fridge and brings it over to her. A wordless look passes between them as she takes it and unscrews the cap for me.

Something pushes at the back of my mind, and I feel like there is something I should know by now. Something I should have realized. Physical needs come first, though, and I gulp down the cool water greedily. I try to lift my hands, but I am too weak to hold the little bottle, and so my mom helps me. I am exhausted beyond words, like I’ve been running a week-long marathon. My body feels bruised and battered, and a dull headache throbs in my head.

I fall back on my pillow wearily. My bones feel like they’ve been replaced with lead. My eyes flit between my mother, sitting on the edge of my bed, and Christopher, standing above us both, a protective stance in his body.

Something clicks, then. Something . . .

My head is not clear enough to interpret it, though, and I do not understand.

A heavy weight sits on my chest, and sleep’s relentless claws drag me under once more.

I have the dream again.