The Sanctum dissolved without warning.
One second I lay on white sheets in a farmhouse that existed outside reality, Belle's weight pressed against my chest and Naomi's warmth along my side, the copper wind chime singing its phantom melody through walls that smelled like wildflowers and sex and spilled milk. The next second the rolling hills collapsed inward like a painting being crumpled by an invisible fist, the sunset sky folded into itself, and the three of us dropped back into my bedroom in Building C with the gracelessness of people shoved through a revolving door by someone who really needed them to leave.
My back hit my actual mattress. Belle landed half on top of me and half on the pillow. Naomi caught herself on one elbow beside us, her pink eyes blinking in the harsh fluorescent light of a real California dorm room that smelled like industrial cleaner and the faint ghost of Hikaru's green tea.
The clock on my nightstand read 10:42 PM.
