In the center of the street, not too far ahead, stands a little boy with dark hair and sparkling eyes. I hold out my hand to him, wanting to reach him, wanting to save him from the vampires. I’m scared—I can feel the fear coursing in my veins. But I just walk, one foot in front of the other, determined to get to the boy. Then Monarch materializes from nowhere and snatches me up. He’s wearing his white coat, stained with blood, and it blows in the wind like a cape.

“Shhh …” he says. “It’s okay. I’ll keep you safe.”

Then the vampires charge. Their sharp fangs snap out, and the blood dripping from their eyes splatters against the pavement.

That’s when I wake up.

I never get to see what happens next.

Or what happens to the boy.

I wake up drenched in sweat, the faint feeling of the nightmare lingering in my body. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out, but my stomach lets out a grumble. I climb out of bed and go to the cafeteria. There are too many people crammed in there at once and the air always stinks of all their fears and worries. Twelve tables hold at least ten people and every single person looks peaceful, content with life. As if they are more than happy to be here.

Tristan’s sitting at one of the center tables, talking with his parents. I’m hesitant to go over. Tristan’s parents have this idea in their head that Tristan and I will end up together. The idea overwhelms me. Yes, Tristan is a nice guy and everything and being with him would probably be perfect. But I’m not sure I want perfect.

Besides, I’m a Bellator, so my life expectancy is short. Especially if I’m chosen for The Gathering.

I stand in the middle of the cafeteria, holding my tray, until his parents leave.

“So are you going to tell me what happened last night during your little raid?” Tristan asks in a low voice the second I sit down.

I set my tray on the table and take a bite of my boiled potatoes, keeping my voice hushed so the Watchers won’t overhear us. “You’ve been sitting around, just waiting to ask me that, haven’t you?”

“You have me worried.” He smiles and gives my hair a playful tug. Then he lets his hand linger in my hair, twirling a stand around his finger. He’s been doing this a lot lately, little touches whenever he gets a chance. “You looked like such a mess when you showed up at the entrance ... and you look tired. Are your nightmares keeping you up again?”