Gabi, an aspiring fashion designer, sees her world in colors. Scarlet, turquoise, and mauve coat a new world of controlled visions when, in an attempt to connect with her absent oneirologist father, she reads a book about lucid dreaming. But she i...
"Take a nap before dinner," Emery says, opening the door for me. "Try to relax."
I barely comprehend what he says as I fumble with the key to my room. Then my bed is in front of me, the sheets rumpled and the pillow creased, but it couldn't look more comfortable. Without another word, I collapse onto it and feel soft fabric pressed against my cheek. Then I'm out.
Strange feelings twist inside me as I sleep, like fingers stretching towards me. Blue—dark, dark blue, almost black—and wispy, hazing the colors of my dream. My eyes are shut but I'm kissing somebody; warm hands are around my waist and twined into my hair. I feel at peace. At home. Like Asher and I are okay again.
Then he pulls away and my eyes open, except it's not Asher—it's Emery. And with that foggy dark blue still swarming, I realize I'm fine with that.
His arms stretch out and I take a step closer. Safe. Loved. I haven't felt like this in a long time.
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I must not sleep for very long, because when I wake up the clock next to my bed indicates that the cafeteria is still serving dinner. I squint at it and shift my gaze to the blackout curtains, which look a hazy purple. A second later they're black again and my stomach growls. I'm ravenous, as if I haven't eaten anything all day.
My clothes are rumpled from a combination of sleep and my journey to Chelsea. I shrug into shorts and a t-shirt and take the hidden door into the headquarter lobby. It's not too busy—I assume everyone is upstairs, eating and laughing, oblivious to the fact that a murder just happened. As detailed memories of what I witnessed seep back into my brain, a sense of dread drags me down.
I find Emery in front of me in line at the cafeteria, picking up a plate of spaghetti to put on his tray. Neither of us says anything, and I look away long enough to collect my own pasta. As we move towards the vegetables, I say, "I don't know why you took me there today."
He turns around, eyebrows raised. "What do you mean? I had to. You needed to see what we're up against."
"No, I didn't. You're just trying to push me away from Asher."
"For good reasons." He adds some broccoli and squash to his tray, and I follow him without bothering to get more food. "He's a murderer, Gabi. You saw that today. I get that you used to be friends with him. Maybe there was something more there, too, and that's why you can't seem to let him go."
"I can't let him go because something isn't right," I insist, trailing him as he sits down at a table near the back of the room. "I grew up with Asher. He'd never act that way."
Saying this out loud makes it feel more real, replacing fear with the same conviction I had when I first got here. Something is off. Asher isn't a monster. That murder wasn't his idea—maybe wasn't even his doing.
"People change," Emery says. "Your eyes didn't deceive you. How can you explain what we saw?"
The gears in my mind spin, trying to find logic to explain this. I can't. But there has to be a way. Asher doesn't kill things, doesn't break things apart. He's a healer, a comforter, a constant presence for me to lean on when there's nothing else in the world. Why this? Why now?
