The morning sun shines its warmth through the window of my room and onto the bed. There are dried wildflowers on the bedside table, adding a splash of purples and yellows. The scent of rosemary wafts in through the open window.

I take off my shoes and lean Pooky Bear against the bed within easy reach. The teddy bear sits on top of the gauzy dress that covers the sword’s scabbard. I’ve felt a tinge of emotion coming off it ever since we’ve been back with Raffe. It’s both happy to be near him and sad to be forbidden to him. I stroke the soft fur of the bear and give it a little pat.

Normally, I sleep in my clothes in case I need to run. But I’m sick of sleeping that way. It’s uncomfortable, and the welcoming room reminds me of what it was like before we were scared all the time.

I decide this will be one of those rare times when I can sleep comfortably. I pad over to the chest of drawers and rummage through the clothes I found earlier.

There’s not much of a choice, but I make the best of what’s there. I choose the cropped T-shirt and the men’s boxers. The T-shirt is loose but fits okay. It comes down to the bottom of my ribs, leaving my midriff bare.

The stretchy boxers cling to me perfectly even though they’re for guys. One leg is frayed and unraveling, but they’re clean, and the elastic isn’t too tight.

I crawl into bed, marveling at the silky luxury of sheets. The second my head lands on the pillow, I begin fading away.

The soft breeze flows in from the windows. Part of me knows that it’s sunny outside and warm in the way that October can be sometimes.

But another part of me sees thunderstorms. The sun melts into this rain, and my room with the garden view turns into storm clouds as I drift deeper into sleep.

I’m back where the Fallen are being dragged away to the Pit in chains. The spikes in their necks and foreheads, wrists and ankles drip blood as the hellions ride them.

It’s the same dream I had through my sword when I was at the Resistance camp. But a part of me remembers that I’m not sleeping with the blade this time. It’s leaning against the bed but not touching me. This doesn’t feel like a sword memory.

I’m dreaming about my own experience of being in the sword’s memory. A dream about a dream.