Excerpt

Taken from Chapter One:

Chapter One

Even before she began, Lauren knew the attempt was impossible. Impossible or not, she had to try. Too many times before, she had turned back. Too many times, fear of the unknown had mastered her.

Last night, it had been a raging river. The night before that, a towering mountain with no visible summit. Tonight, it was a chasm—bottomless, black, and more than a dozen feet wide. Each obstacle rose between her and the forbidden place on the other side. Each one impossible to cross. And always, always, the other side called to her.

This time, she would not turn back.

She drew in a steadying breath and fixed her gaze on the far edge. Gritting her teeth, she broke into a run. The ground rushed beneath her feet. At the last instant, she pushed off with every ounce of strength she possessed and leapt.

For a heartbeat, she felt weightless.

Then she looked down.

The chasm stretched endlessly below her—jagged stone walls falling away into a darkness that seemed cut with a knife. Halfway through the arc of her jump, she knew she would not make it.

This is only a dream, she told herself. I can change it. I can make it what I want it to be.

She kicked hard against the empty air. Once. Again. Her body lifted by inches. The void clawed at her heels as she strained for distance, reaching with everything she had.

Her chest struck the far ledge with bruising force. Pain flared as her fingers scraped stone, desperate for purchase. By sheer will, she found a hold—just the tips of her fingers—and hauled herself upward. An arm, a knee, then with a final surge her whole body cleared the edge.

She rolled onto her back, breathless, stunned, and smiling despite herself.

At last.

For the first time in any dream, she had crossed over.

In every dream, there had always been a barrier—a fence, a river, a wall, a chasm. Always a separation. Always the unreachable place beyond it. Now, at last, she had entered that forbidden land.

She lifted her head slowly, unease sliding through her triumph. The familiar sensation returned—that she was not alone. That someone, just out of sight, watched her.

As always, no one appeared.

She pushed herself upright and stared out over a vast, empty plain stretching to the horizon—flat, silent, endless. Unease prickled along her skin. She turned back toward the chasm, suddenly gripped by doubt.

Should she return?

She had barely shifted her gaze when the wasteland behind her vanished. In its place stood a towering stone wall, extending as far as she could see in either direction. Set into it, within arm’s reach, was a single narrow door.

Forward it is, she thought.

She pressed against the door. It opened easily, as though waiting for her. Beyond it lay dense forest, shadowed and cool. The scent of earth and leaf met her as a breeze brushed her face.

Two steps carried her inside.

The wall and door vanished.

Trees surrounded her now, ancient and thick. Without thinking, she pressed on. Only then did she realize something lay in her hand—heavy, cool, and balanced. A sword.

It felt strangely right.

The forest thinned into a wide meadow. At the far end stood a small stone house. A wisp of smoke curled from the chimney, and the scent that reached her was unmistakable.

Bread.

Warm, fresh bread.

The smell drew her forward with quiet insistence. Nothing else seemed to matter. She crossed the meadow, reached the door, and pushed it open—the floor vanished.

She plunged downward as the house unfolded into ruin around her.

“Jump hard,” a voice called from above.

She kicked against one of the falling planks and launched herself sideways.

“Again!” the voice shouted.

Her heart thundered as she snatched at broken boards, dragging herself across collapsing timber. Fear surged stronger than any dream before. She wanted to wake. Desperately.

She made one last leap for the edge—and missed by inches.

She cried out as a hand seized her wrist and hauled her to solid ground.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” said a voice, amused and arrogant.

She turned. The young man who held her hand could not have been much older than she—certainly no more than twenty. Dark hair was pulled back, though loose strands framed his face. His clothes were fitted, strange, and old-fashioned, as though drawn from a history book. In his free hand, he held a sword.

He was laughing.

“Who are you?” Lauren gasped. “I’ve never seen you in one of my dreams.”

He studied her coolly. “Your dreams?” he repeated. “You misunderstand. You are in mine.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “This is my dream. What is your name?”

He released her hand and straightened. “I am called Martin,” he said. “You may address me as Lord Martin. You are nothing but something my mind has fashioned.”

“As soon as I wake,” Lauren replied dryly, “you will cease to exist.”

“We shall see which of us fades,” he said, turning away.

“Where are you going?”

“Where are you going... Lord,” he corrected.

Lauren frowned.

“What does it matter,” he added, “if you are only a figment?”

“Lauren,” she said firmly. “That is my name.”

“It makes no difference,” he replied. “This will soon end. I will awaken in my bed.”

Confused—and far too curious—Lauren followed him.

A road appeared where none had been moments before, winding through the trees and opening onto a meadow. Beyond it lay a stream crossed by two ropes—one for footing, one for balance.

Without hesitation, Martin stepped onto the lower rope and crossed with effortless ease.

Lauren hesitated, then glanced down at the sword she carried. Only just then did she notice the sheath at her side.

When had that appeared?

He reached the far bank and waited.

If he can cross it, so can I.

The rope wavered beneath her foot the instant she stepped on. It twisted and bucked as though alive. Each step was a struggle. From the other side, she heard Martin stifle a laugh.

At last, shaking and breathless, she stumbled onto solid ground.

“I will be glad,” she panted, “when I wake and you are gone.”

“You will not be the one who remains,” he said coolly. “As I told you, this is my dream.”

“Whatever.”

“Lauren… Lauren…”

The voice sharpened, shrill and urgent.

“Lauren, it is time for breakfast. You must wake now.”

Lauren stirred, disappointment brushing through her as her eyes opened.

Morning light spilled across her room. For a moment she lay still, caught between worlds.

The boy. Martin. Lord Martin.

What had he meant—his dream?

She had always been aware when she dreamed. Even as a small child, she had known. As she grew older, she learned to shift the world she found there—first small things, then larger. And she always remembered.

But never this.

This dream had not felt shaped. It had felt entered.

Aunt Hazel called again. With effort, Lauren pushed herself upright and transferred slowly into her chair. The faint scar along her arm caught the light as she smoothed her skirt.

She did not walk in the waking world.

But always in dreams.

The veranda wrapped around the southern face of the house, broad and shaded, open to the salt air drifting in from the distant shore. Even in October, Savannah clung to warmth, though the heat of summer had softened into something gentler. A breeze lifted the lace curtains at the tall windows behind her and stirred the palms lining the drive.

Lauren sat near the rail where she always preferred to take her breakfast. Her chair was positioned just so, angled to catch the light without facing the glare. A small table stood at her side, neatly set with china and silver. Aunt Eloise moved back and forth through the open doors with quiet efficiency, while Aunt Hazel had already settled herself at the far end with a newspaper and a cup of tea.

Lauren broke open a warm biscuit, steam lifting into her face. She scarcely noticed.

Her thoughts were still tangled in dream-shadow.

Chasms. Forest. Falling boards. A boy who insisted he was real.

Lord Martin, she thought faintly, and nearly smiled at the absurdity of it.

She raised her teacup and took a careful sip. The warmth slid down her throat, grounding her, reminding her where she truly sat—in the waking world, alive and safe, nowhere near any bottomless void. The pale blue china was cool beneath her fingers. The silver spoon caught the light. Everything around her was solid. Ordinary.

Still, the dream clung.

It had not unraveled the way most did. Usually her dreams unraveled within minutes of waking, their sharpest edges dulled, their colors faded. But this one remained whole. Entire. She could still feel the weight of the sword in her hand, the sting in her chest where she struck stone, the heat of panic when the floor fell away.

And the boy’s voice—

“You are in my dream.”

She frowned slightly and cut into her eggs without looking.

Nonsense.

She had dreamed of strangers before. Faces she did not recognize, voices she had never heard. The mind could invent anything it wished while asleep. That was what she had always been told. What she had always believed.

Yet this had been different.

He had not belonged to the dream in the way others did. He had moved against it instead of with it. Corrected her. Resisted her. Mocked her.

And when had that ever happened before?

Lauren forced her shoulders to relax and took another bite. The bread was as good as it had smelled in the dream, which unsettled her more than it should have. She set the thought aside at once.

It had been nothing more than one of the many strange dreams she had known all her life. Nothing more.

Her gaze drifted out beyond the veranda, where sand met scrub and the sky widened toward the sea. The world beyond their winter home lay calm and predictable. Waves rolled in their steady rhythm beyond the dunes. A gull cried somewhere overhead. No roads appeared where none had been. No doors formed out of empty air.

She let out a slow breath.

Still… they were getting stronger.

That much she could not deny.

The dreams had grown sharper over the past months, more demanding. She no longer drifted through them as she once had. Now she moved with purpose, whether she meant to or not. The spaces felt deeper. The dangers are more deliberate. And no matter what she did, they no longer faded upon waking.

She remembered everything.

Far too well.

Lauren pressed her lips together and glanced toward Aunt Hazel, who was muttering softly over the newspaper, disapproving of something modern and new. The sound was familiar, comforting in its predictability. Aunt Eloise moved quietly inside, the scent of coffee trailing behind her.

This was real.

The rest was only sleep.

“I am letting my imagination run away with me,” Lauren murmured under her breath, more a command than a conclusion.

She finished her breakfast with deliberate care, folding the napkin in her lap when she was done. By the time Aunt Eloise cleared her plate, the dream had been pressed neatly into the back of her thoughts.

Packed away.

Dismissed.

Or so she told herself.

But even as she turned her face toward the sea and let the salt air fill her lungs, one stubborn truth lingered, quiet and unsettling: The dreams were no longer content to remain only dreams.