The next morning, Aden sat upright in bed with a mildly pleased expression. He looked down at his hands; for the first time, they were steady.
Usually, sleep was a battlefield. He was plagued by jagged nightmares or clear, resonant whispers that vibrated through every fiber of his being in a language he couldn't decipher. These hauntings had followed him since the moment he left the cave, but under the constant pressure of survival, he had never moved them to the top of his priorities.
But waking up today without a trace of a dream, without Lorelei having to dampen his forehead with a wet rag like a fever-stricken child, it brought to him a surge of quiet exhilaration.
