Varen
I paced the length of my room for the tenth time, my bare feet echoing against the stone floor. The moonlight filtered in through the tall window, casting a silver glow across the walls. Josie had finally fallen asleep a little while ago—if that fragile state of unconsciousness could even be called sleep. Her body had curled so tightly into itself, and she kept murmuring under her breath, things she probably didn't even realize she was saying.
But I heard them. I heard every damn word.
"She said they didn't tell her to play," I muttered, running a hand through my hair in frustration. My jaw clenched as I turned and paced again. "She said it wasn't them."
Thorne exhaled from his spot on the edge of the bed. "She was hallucinating again, Varen. She's not lucid."
"And you think that makes it less important?" I snapped, rounding on him. "You think the words of someone who's sick don't carry weight? She's not stupid. That girl remembers more than she lets on."
