"Fuck!" The alarm blared, ripping Emeriun out of sleep like a punch to the skull. Her head throbbed with the kind of hangover that made her regret being born. Today was her first day off in months since landing that soul-sucking call center job, a gig that paid the bills but drained her dry, one angry caller and declined card at a time. She groaned, rolling over in search of the noise, only to spot the alarm clock flashing obnoxiously from her dresser across the room.
"For Christ’s sake, how did it end up over there?" she muttered. Her voice was dry, her throat raw. She blinked through the fog, flashes of last night surfacing. Stacy. Too many shots. A blur of bar lights and... oh right. The guy.
“Can you turn that off, please?” a groggy male voice muttered.
Emeriun froze and turned slowly, dread blooming in her chest. There he was, half-covered by her blanket, with messy hair, a bare chest, and the unmistakable look of someone who thought he had a reason to still be here.
“You’re still here?” she snapped, sitting up.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” he said, blinking like he didn’t see the problem.
“Well, you can go now. Thanks.” She pointed toward the door, her voice sharp and unapologetic. She hated when they lingered.
“Are you serious?” he asked, clearly baffled. He wasn’t unattractive with his deep brown eyes, full lips, the kind of face girls probably giggled over. But Emeriun wasn’t most girls.
“Dead serious. Grab your stuff and leave.”
Her head pounded as she climbed out of bed. She took one step and pain shot through her ankle, nearly sending her stumbling into the dresser. "Shit," she hissed, steadying herself on the edge of the bed. Apparently she'd done more than just drink last night. Limping, she made her way to the alarm and turned it off and rubbed at her temples while he scrambled around the room, picking up articles of clothing like a trail of bad decisions. One shoe near the nightstand. The other by the door. He gave her a brief, annoyed look, but said nothing. Watching a naked man hunt for his dignity in her trailer was the closest thing to comedy she was getting today.
Her bedroom wasn’t exactly Pinterest-worthy; it had standard trailer wallpaper, warped paneling, but it was hers. At 27, she owned it. No more being told she was ungodly, no more walking on eggshells. Just walls she was fixing, floors she was reclaiming. Piece by stubborn piece.
As he shoved his foot into his last shoe, the alarm blared again. Reaching down she turned it off again and gave it a look like I dared you to ring on more time.
“Lock the door on your way out, would you?” she called as he passed, not looking up.
He gave a grunt, then left, locking it from the inside. Finally, once the door clicked shut behind him, silence reclaimed the space like an old friend. Emeriun exhaled hard and pressed a hand to her throbbing ankle, still tender from whatever the hell she’d done last night. She limped toward the bathroom, cursing under her breath.
The idea of standing long enough for a shower was laughable. Her ankle pulsed with every step. No chance. She leaned over and started the bath, watching steam begin to rise as the water poured in, her reflection in the mirror already softening by the steam, but unmistakably worn. That heart-shaped face framed by wild, red hair seemed even more defiant in the fog. Freckles splashed across her cheeks and shoulders like constellations, and those green eyes that were flecked with gold, flickered with tired fire. Her teeth, straight but marked by slightly pointed canines, gave her a half-wild smile she never entirely disliked. A bird-shaped birthmark stretched along her jawline like it had taken flight during the night. That part of her always felt like a message, even if she never quite knew what it meant.
She peeled off her oversized sleep shirt, let it fall to the floor, and stepped into the steaming bath. The heat stung at first but gave way to relief as muscles unwound. Her eyes slipped shut. There were no judgments here, no one to impress, no one to disappoint. For a little while, the world could go on without her.
She lingered there longer than she meant to, letting the water cradle her like it might rinse more than sweat and shame, the sound of the faucet dripping, the way the light cut through the curtain. It all felt distant and maybe even fragile. At this moment she had no job, no calls, and no one expecting anything from her.
Here, in the quiet, she could just let her world fall apart and turn around to see the bright side of things. She didn’t have to be tough, or clever, or the girl who always had a snarky comeback. She could just... be.
After about an hour of soaking her foot and letting her world be quiet, she got out of the tub and grabbed her phone from the bed and flopped back onto the mattress, groaning as the screen lit up.
Two missed calls from her mom. Emeriun stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary. Her adoptive mother never called just to talk. It was always a demand wrapped in scripture, a warning disguised as concern, or a guilt trip laced with holy obligation. She could already hear it in her head: You're wasting the life God gave you. This isn’t what we prayed for.
Except it was every rule, every cold silence, every sermon used like a leash. There had always been a line she wasn’t allowed to cross. And love, conditional love, was waiting just behind it. The growing hate she had for this woman was unfathomable. Her mom knew the pastor's son and daughter had touched her, and she was the one who was supposed to protect her, but instead just looked the other way. She was not answering that call. Checking her text she saw Stacy had already sent three. Shit!
STACY: You alive?
STACY: Because last night was chaos
STACY: Also, who was the hottie?
Emeriun rolled her eyes and typed back: Hungover. Ankle busted. No memory of his name.
A pause.
EMERIUN: Is my ankle broken or just emotionally damaged?
STACY: I wouldn’t say broken, but I would say severely bruised... Or twisted...... last night it swelled like a balloon, and you wouldn’t stop poking it. Now, spill the beans about the guy!
EMERIUN: Only if you bring coffee. Also… wanna hit the bookshop? A new title dropped today, and I need it before it sells out. I have no memory of what happened last night. Can you at least give me a hint?
STACY: You had me at coffee. Be there in 10. Also you screamed “THIS IS FOR SCIENCE” before jumping off the booth. No idea what the experiment was. Pretty sure gravity won.
Emeriun groaned. Yeah. That tracked.
She tossed the phone back onto the bed and forced herself to start getting dressed. Her body moved on autopilot, but her mind was already fixated on one singular, sacred purpose: coffee. She needed it. Craved it. Worshipped it.
If caffeine were a religion, she’d be its most loyal disciple, robed in sarcasm, bearing the holy chalice of strong and sweet salvation.
She stood and immediately winced as pain flared through her right ankle.
“Son of a—” she muttered, grabbing the edge of her dresser for balance. It was still tender and she was still stupid.
She could vaguely remember the moment: Stacy laughing, neon lights spinning, the base of a booth that jumped out of nowhere, and her triumphant cry of “This is for science!” just before the floor rose up to meet her.
Now her ankle was swollen, puffy, and pulsing with betrayal.
She hobbled toward the kitchen, muttering curses with every limping step. The floor was cold beneath her feet, but her goal was clear. The coffee pot stood on the counter like a beacon of hope.
She filled it with water and loaded the grounds like it was a sacred rite, hitting brew with a reverence usually reserved for summoning circles.
“I swear,” she mumbled to the machine, “if you fail me, I’ll start lighting candles and praying to Starbucks.”
The first drops hit the pot with a hiss. The scent filled the air, rich, dark, a little bitter, but soon she’d lace it with just enough sugar to take the edge off. Strong and sweet like all the best things in life. Even though Stacy was bringing her a cup of coffee she still needed her own special home brew of just espresso to start her day.
She leaned against the counter, one hand rubbing her throbbing ankle, the other hovering over her favorite chipped mug. Her head still ached, her pride was bruised, and she could not remember what the “for science” part was for. What she was thinking was coffee was coming, and for now, that was all she wanted.
Ten minutes later, Emeriun limped outside just as Stacy pulled up in her beat-up blue hatchback, coffee in hand.
“You’re officially my favorite person,” Emeriun muttered, snatching the cup like it might vanish. It was sweet, strong, and scalding.
“You say that every time I show up with caffeine and I know you probably already had two cups this morning you caffeine addict,” Stacy smirked. “Buuuuuutttttttt, still counts.”
As she eased into the passenger seat, ankle protesting with every movement, she leaned her head against the window, eyes watching the world blur past.
“So,” Stacy said, pulling out of the driveway, “we talking about your bar boy or pretending he was a shared hallucination?”
She gave a noncommittal grunt, sipping her coffee like it was a lifeline.
“Okay, wow. That good, huh?” Stacy teased, glancing over. “You’ve been in a daze since I pulled up.”
“I’ve had four cups,” Emeriun muttered. “You don’t even get the real me until at least cup six or seven.”
Stacy snorted. “Noted. You’re currently in cryptid mode.”
“I’m currently in survival mode,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Stacy side-eyed her. “You sure that’s all it is? You’re not normally this slow-burn broody.”
Emeriun sighed, resting her head against the window. “He overstayed.”
Stacy blinked. “No. He didn’t.”
“Oh, not for long,” Emeriun said. “But long enough to make it weird. My alarm went off and he was still sitting on my bed like we were gonna discuss our future children. I told him to grab his shoes and go before I started dry-heaving.”
Stacy let out a delighted gasp. “Please tell me he tried something cringey.”
“He opened his mouth like he wanted to. But I hit him with the classic ‘you should go’ before we entered rom-com territory. He left. I limped. End scene.”
Stacy smirked. “Iconic.”
“Still,” Emeriun muttered, “the mental scarring remains. I’m pretty sure he sniffed my shampoo on the way out.”
Stacy gagged. “Okay, no. Burn the towel.”
“And to top it all off,” Emeriun added, the bite creeping into her voice, “my mom called. Two times.”
Stacy glanced over, suddenly serious. “Two?”
“She never calls. Not unless it’s to tell me I’m ruining my life again.” She took another sip of coffee, jaw tight. “She probably sensed I had fun and wanted to make sure I hate myself for it.”
Stacy didn’t say anything. The car was quiet, filled only by the hum of tires on pavement and the distant whir of traffic.
“A limp, a foggy memory, a guy who overstayed his welcome, and two voicemails probably full of fire and brimstone,” Emeriun said. “At this point, I’m not sure if I need coffee or an exorcism.”
Stacy finally broke the silence. “Is it still worth it?”
Emeriun stared at her cup, then out the window. “Ask me after five.”
Their laughter followed them all the way to Blackwood Pages, a slightly lopsided building tucked between a bakery and a thrift shop. The chime of the bell greeted them as they stepped inside.
The air smelled like cinnamon and ink, always warm and worn, like pages that had been loved too much. The shop was a maze of half-tilted shelves, faded rugs, and precariously stacked books.
Closing her eyes, Emeriun breathed it in like medicine. The scent of cinnamon and old paper was comforting, but it was the faint trace of roasted beans drifting from the shop's tiny coffee bar that nearly brought her to tears. Coffee and books. Her version of salvation.
“I’m hitting fantasy,” she said.
“I’m going to find something trashy and paranormal,” Stacy replied. “If I giggle, it’s a good one. If I groan, run.”
With a head shake and a wave, she wandered toward her usual corner, letting her fingers trail along the shelves. She’d come here a hundred times before, always to this little alcove where the light pooled soft and golden. There was something sacred about it, this small slice of stillness where the world didn’t feel so loud.
Her eyes skimmed the rows, half-looking, half-remembering. Most of the titles were familiar. But then something caught her eye.
A book was shoved between two thick tomes, tucked so tightly it looked like it didn’t belong. Picking it up, she realized there was no title on the spine, and no author listed. The cover was a deep, velvety purple that shimmered faintly under the soft lights. It looked old and ancient, yet there wasn’t a speck of dust on it. Flipping it over in her hands she noticed the book was warm, which was odd since it was shrouded by shade.
“Hey, Stace,” she called softly. “Come look at this.”
Stacy popped her head around the shelf. “Ooh, what’s that?”
Stacy leaned in. “Looks cursed.”
“Good. Maybe it'll take me with it,” Emeriun muttered, flipping it open.
The first page read:
To the child of ash and starlight—You were never meant to stay asleep.
Her stomach dropped.
She stared at the words.
“You okay?” Stacy asked.
“Yeah,” Emeriun said slowly, eyes still locked on the page. “I think I need this one.”
She didn’t remember checking out. Didn’t remember much of the drive back, really. She’d sat there, cradling the book in her lap, while Stacy chattered about some werewolf romance with a cheesy cover she’d found in the clearance bin. The words washed over her, but she barely heard them.
“Hey Em, you sure you’re good?” Stacy had asked at one point.
“Yeah,” Emeriun replied, eyes still on the book. “Just... weird day.”
That was the truth, even if she didn’t know why.
By the time Stacy pulled up to her trailer and handed her the sixth cup of coffee she'd insisted on getting, Emeriun still hadn’t looked away from the book for more than a moment.
Just the weight of it in her bag and the growing certainty that something had changed the second she touched it lingered with her as she made her way inside. The air in the trailer felt heavier than before.
Later, she sat cross-legged on the couch with a hoodie draped over her shoulders and a mug of too-sweet coffee nestled in her hands. The mysterious book rested on the coffee table in front of her, its velvety purple cover catching the lamp’s glow like it had a pulse, like it was breathing in rhythm with her thoughts.
She hadn’t opened it again, not yet. Just the memory of that first page was enough to leave her unsettled. To the child of ash and starlight—You were never meant to stay asleep. The words wouldn’t leave her.
She reached for the book, fingertips brushing the edge like it might bite. “What the hell are you?” she whispered. It didn’t answer, of course it’s just a weird book. But the moment her skin made contact, that strange warmth returned. A thrum beneath the cover and she felt like it knew her.
With a deep breath, she picked up the book again and limped toward her bedroom, the ache in her ankle dull compared to the buzzing in her mind. She eased down onto the bed, the lamp casting soft shadows across the room, and opened the book once more.
Page after page fluttered past her fingers. Symbols she didn’t recognize, strange diagrams, text written in a language that felt half-familiar, like something she might have once known in a dream. Some pages were blank while others were filled with dense, looping script that seemed to pulse faintly when she stared too long. Her fingertips tingled where they touched the parchment.
One page had an illustration of a great tree split by lightning, its roots tangling with a serpent of stars. Another showed a woman standing at the edge of a shattered world, wings outstretched, surrounded by shadows. None of this made any sense, but something inside her stirred, a flicker of recognition, buried deep beneath the noise of her life.
Eventually, her eyes grew heavy. She placed the book on her nightstand, careful not to close it entirely, as if it might vanish if shut. Outside taps on her metal roof came slowly. The rain had started, soft, steady, rhythmic. By the time she crawled under the covers, the wind was pressing gently against the windows. Her eyelids grew heavy as she started slowly drifting into a dream.
She didn't remember falling asleep. The book rested beside her where it must have slipped from her hands sometime during the night, one page bent awkwardly beneath the cover. She made a mental note to flatten it later before letting her head fall back against the pillow. Whatever had woken her couldn't have been important. She'd only been asleep for what felt like a few minutes, and if she ignored it long enough maybe she'd drift back off before her alarm ruined the rest of the night. She closed her eyes. They opened again almost immediately.
"... seriously?"
She sighed into the empty room before rubbing both hands over her face. Something had pulled her awake, and now that she was paying attention she couldn't ignore it anymore. It wasn't a noise. If anything, it was the lack of one. The rain had been pounding against her bedroom window when she'd finally given up reading, hard enough that she'd almost shut the lamp off twice before convincing herself she could finish one more chapter. Now she couldn't hear any of it.
That didn't make any sense. Florida storms didn't just disappear. She stayed where she was, listening harder, waiting for the wind to rattle the old window or the air conditioner to kick back on. The house always made noise. Pipes creaked. The refrigerator hummed from the kitchen. The neighbor's dog barked at absolutely nothing almost every night around two in the morning.
Nothing. The silence settled strangely in her chest, heavy enough that she found herself holding her breath. She let it out slowly and glanced toward the lamp on her nightstand just as the bulb flickered once before steadying itself again
"Don't you start."
The old thing had been threatening to burn out for months. She'd get another one when she got paid. The light flickered again. This time it dimmed long enough that the shadows stretching across her bedroom walls shifted with it. Her eyes followed them absentmindedly until one of them kept moving after the light had steadied.
"What?"
At first she thought it was her eyes refusing to focus. She blinked twice before rubbing them with the heel of her hand, but the strange ripple remained. It spread slowly across the wall opposite her bed, almost like someone had dropped a stone into perfectly still water. Except walls weren't supposed to ripple. Drywall definitely wasn't supposed to look like someone was pushing on it from the other side.
"No." She sat up straighter.
The word slipped out before she'd even realized she'd spoken. The ripple deepened until a thin black line appeared straight down the center of it. It wasn't a crack. It was… she honestly had no idea what it was. The line widened little by little, peeling apart in a way that made her stomach twist because nothing in the real world should have been able to do that.
"Okay," she whispered to herself, not taking her eyes off it. "Either I'm still dreaming," she looked toward the book lying beside her, "or somebody put something in my coffee."
The opening continued widening until she could no longer see her bedroom wall behind it. She wasn't entirely sure she remembered how.
The man ducked slightly as he came through the opening, antlers catching the edge of the strange tear before he straightened to his full height. Armor the color of deep pine covered him from neck to boots, polished enough that the light from her bedside lamp caught across the engraved vines curling over the breastplate. It looked old. Not rusty. Not worn. Just… old. Like it belonged in a museum instead of standing three feet inside her bedroom.
"Nope."
The word barely made it past her lips. A second man followed him through. He wore nearly identical armor, though he stood broader across the shoulders, his antlers thicker and less elegant than the first. The vines twisting around them looked real. She frowned, trying to decide if they were actually growing or if her brain had finally decided to give up completely.
"I'm asleep," she muttered, nodding once to herself. "That's what this is. How fantastic! I finally have one weird dream, and it's about forest Vikings."
Neither man acknowledged her. They looked around the room instead. Like they were the visitors. The thought should have been ridiculous. Instead, it somehow made everything worse. A third figure stepped through the opening, and whatever tiny comfort she'd found in convincing herself this had to be a dream disappeared the second he looked at her. He wasn't wearing armor.
A long black coat fell almost to the floor, the dark fabric shifting softly as he walked like it caught light differently than everything else in the room. His hair hung well past his shoulders, still damp as though he'd walked through rain to get here, yet not a single drop fell onto her hardwood floor. There wasn't anything particularly frightening about his face. If anything, it was the opposite. Sharp cheekbones. Straight nose. A jaw carved so perfectly it almost looked unfair. It was his eyes, they were violet. They settled on her so completely that she had the uncomfortable feeling he'd already seen every thought she'd ever had.
"Okay," she said slowly, looking from one man to the next before pointing toward the impossible hole still hanging in her bedroom wall. "Either nobody told me Comic-Con got really out of hand this year... or one of us has some explaining to do."
Neither armored man reacted. The one in black sighed so quietly she almost missed it.
"There she is."
"Do we know each other?" Emeriun frowned.
He didn't answer. Instead, he looked around her bedroom. His gaze lingered on the stack of books beside the bed, the half-empty coffee mug she'd forgotten to take downstairs, the framed picture sitting crooked on the dresser before settling back on her.
"You live exactly as I imagined."
"That sentence is significantly more disturbing than I think you intended."
The two armored men exchanged a glance. One of them rubbed the bridge of his nose. The other looked somewhere between amused and exhausted. Emeriun's stomach dropped. They weren't surprised to see her. They'd come here for her.
The longer they stood there without moving, the more ridiculous the whole thing became. Three strangers had climbed through what looked like a hole in reality itself and somehow she was the only one acting like this wasn't normal. The man continued looking around her bedroom like he'd expected it to look exactly this way while the other two remained close to the opening, neither of them saying a word.
"I'm going to ask this one time because I'm really hoping there's a logical explanation for whatever this is. Who are you, and why are you in my bedroom?" she said slowly, pointing toward the hole still hanging in her wall
"My name is Diar," the man said and finally looked at her.
"Fantastic." She waited and nothing. She blinked once.
His expression never changed.
"That answered exactly one of my questions," she said.
"It did."
"And the other one?"
"You wouldn't believe me."
"You know what? Try me. I think we've already passed the point where believable was an option." She couldn't help the laugh that escaped her.
Diar studied her for another moment before lifting one hand toward the two armored men. Neither of them moved, but whatever silent command he'd given them was enough that they visibly relaxed, their attention never leaving her.
"My dear, we are here to collect you," he answered as though they were discussing nothing more exciting than tomorrow's weather
Emeriun blinked.
"Collect me?" She let out a short laugh and pointed between herself and the three strangers standing in her bedroom. "Yeah, no. I think the word you're looking for is kidnap, and I'm really not interested in being kidnapped."
"I wouldn't describe it that way."
"I absolutely would."
She kept talking because talking kept her from thinking about the impossible hole still hanging in her wall. But while every bit of her attention stayed on the three men, her hand slowly drifted toward the nightstand beside the bed. The drawer barely made a sound as she eased it open with the tips of her fingers. If they noticed, none of them acknowledged it. The cold metal of the revolver met her hand almost instantly, and relief hit so hard she nearly laughed. Thank God she hadn't listened to everyone who told her keeping it in the nightstand was a bad idea.
"That won't work."
"Excuse me?" Her fingers tightened instinctively around the grip before she looked back up at him.
"The revolver."
Every muscle in her body went still. How the hell did he know there was a gun in her drawer?
She didn't ask. She didn't have time to ask. Instead she pulled it free, cocked the hammer with a practiced motion she'd repeated a hundred times at the range, and leveled it squarely at his chest.
"Stay exactly where you are."
Neither of the armored men reached for a weapon. Neither of them even looked concerned. Diar simply watched her with the same calm expression he'd worn since stepping into her room, which somehow irritated her more than if he'd laughed.
"I am not going anywhere with you."
"I know."
"I mean it."
"So do I."
He took a single step toward her. The gun went off before she consciously decided to pull the trigger. The crack echoed through the bedroom, loud enough that her ears rang, but the bullet never reached him. It stopped somewhere between them, spinning lazily in the air as though someone had plucked it out of flight and forgotten to let it finish.
Her mouth slowly fell open.
"What the… "
She fired again. The second bullet stopped beside the first. A third joined them. Three rounds hung in the middle of her bedroom, slowly turning in place while Diar looked at them with all the interest of someone waiting for water to boil.
"I did warn you."
"Oh, fuck you."
She hurled the revolver at him instead. It bounced once across the hardwood floor and slid to a stop near his boots without so much as making him flinch.
Diar looked toward the two armored men.
"Grab her."
"Oh, hell no," she said.
They moved at the same time. Emeriun snatched the lamp from her nightstand with both hands and swung as hard as she could. The heavy base slammed into the nearest man's shoulder with a satisfying crack that sent him stumbling sideways.
"Gods above!" he barked, grabbing his arm.
"You deserved that!" she yelled, limping toward the bedroom door.
Her ankle had protested the second she put weight on it, pain shooting up her leg hard enough that she lost her footing and slammed into the floor, but adrenaline shoved her forward anyway. She made it halfway across the room before the second guard nearly caught her. Twisting away, she lashed out with the first thing she could. Her foot.
The kick landed squarely across his face. He stumbled back with a curse, more surprised than hurt, and it bought her exactly enough time to throw herself into the bathroom. She slammed the door shut, twisted the lock, and backed away until the edge of the bathtub caught the backs of her legs. For one stupid, wonderful second she actually believed she'd done it and climbed into the tub.
"You know," Diar called from the other side of the door, sounding almost amused now, "that will not stop us."
"Yes, it will!" she shouted back. "Doors exist for a reason, motherfucker!"
The shimmer appeared next to the bathtub. Emeriun turned just in time to watch the air split open again.
"You've got to be kidding me."
The tear widened until she could see straight into her bedroom, the three men stepping through it as casually as if they'd simply walked across the hall. The first thing her hand landed on was a bottle of shampoo. She threw it without thinking. It exploded across the armored man's face.
"My eyes!" he roared, clawing at his helmet. "What in the seven realms was that?"
"Shampoo!"
"It burns!"
"Good!"
She grabbed another bottle, then another. The conditioner exploded against the bathroom wall. Body wash bounced off the second guard's helmet before rolling into the sink. A bottle of mouthwash narrowly missed Diar altogether, shattering against the floor behind him. The second guard ducked another flying bottle before looking toward Diar with obvious frustration.
"My lord, do something about this or we will be here all night."
Diar closed his eyes for the briefest moment and rubbed the bridge of his nose before letting out a tired sigh.
"Enough."
He lifted one hand and every muscle in Emeriun's body stopped working.
The shampoo bottle slipped from her fingers into the empty bathtub with a hollow clunk. Panic hit harder than anything she'd felt all night. She fought to move so much as a finger and nothing happened.
"What did you do to me?"
One of the armored men stepped into the tub, bent down, and lifted her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing at all. She couldn't swing, couldn't kick, couldn't even slap him, so she settled for the only weapon she still had. Her mouth. She cursed him, his ancestors, Diar, the glowing hole in reality, and every terrible life decision that had somehow led to this exact moment while he carried her toward the waiting portal. Diar stopped beside her just long enough to meet her eyes.
"You'll understand in time."
"I don't want to understand! Put me down!"
The guard stepped through the tear with her over his shoulder, and the moment they crossed into the darkness, the world twisted so violently that the bathroom, her bedroom, and everything she'd ever known disappeared.
The moment they crossed through the tear in reality, every ounce of air vanished from her lungs. It felt like someone had reached inside her chest, wrapped both hands around everything that made her who she was, and ripped. A scream tore free before she could stop it as her stomach lurched violently. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing hard against the wave of nausea climbing up her throat. If she opened them, she was going to throw up. She was sure of it, the world she had known was gone.