Amirah pov
(Trigger warning)
I'm trapped. It's that endless dream again—my own darkness weaving reality into loops that choke me.
It always begins the same: I see Kai, the man with soft hands and a voice that makes the world gentler. He loves me in the dream, cares for me, soothes the hurt in places even I can't name. For a breath, I allow myself to lean into him, to believe in a world where I am safe and cherished.
And then, in a heartbeat, it's all ripped away and I'm thrown back into the hospital halls—blinding white, the smell of chemicals, and the feeling of hands pinning me down. The men swarm me, shadows gouged into human shapes. I try to scream for them to stop, to get off of me, but nothing comes out. I can't move. They just keep thrusting, a parade of devastation, and I am small, voiceless, left on the floor—beaten, bruised, bones aching, soul hollow.
When I think I can't bear another second, the nightmare resets, and I'm trapped again: Kai, love, gentleness, snatched away, hospital, pain, darkness.
I want to break free. "I want to wake up! I want Lani. My daughter—where is she? I need her!" I beg the void, but Lani's not here. Sometimes I snap the chains around my wrists; other times, in desperation, I wrap them around my neck and yank until everything goes black, hoping the jolt will wake me. It never does.
I wander my own empty darkness—corridors stretching on and on, echoing with my own weeping, with the guttural echoes of the things that have been done to me. Then, distant, a voice—thin, trembling—"Mommy..."
Adrenaline, hope, and fear all swirl together. I move fast, running toward the sound, "Lani! Baby, where are you?"
I see her—small and perfect, standing where the darkness is thinnest, her shadow outlined in soft violet light. "Hi, Mommy," she says. I don't know if she's real or just my battered mind clinging to a phantom, but I collapse to my knees and hug her, sobbing with relief, with longing.
"Hi, baby," I whisper, clutching her to me as tightly as I can.
She looks up at me, her wide eyes serious, worried. "You know I love you right, Mommy?"
"Yeah," I whisper, tears clouding my vision. "I know you love me, just like I love you."
Lani smiles, but it's a strange, sad smile—the kind I've never seen on her face before, ancient and knowing. "Mommy, when you wake up, things will be different. I want you to stay strong and live. For me. Promise me, okay?"
Confused, shaken, I nod. "I promise. I'll be strong and live for you, my sweet Lani."
She hugs me hard, impossibly hard for such a little thing, and I feel something final in it—like goodbye. "Good."
The darkness swirls up again. It's suddenly empty where she stood—she fades, and all I see is shadow.
When my eyes flutter open, I gasp, heart thundering. The ceiling above me is familiar—I'm back in my old room. The barrier is up, the wolves are stretched out asleep. "Was it really just a nightmare?" For a moment, I let myself smile, barely. I reach for Lani—my comfort, my certainty—expecting her warmth curled beside me. My hands find nothing but rumpled blankets.
Confusion bleeds into fear. I look beside me, pat the sheets, check at the foot of the bed. No Lani.
I stumble out of bed, nerves in overdrive, searching the corners. "Lani, baby, are you in the bathroom?" I call, pushing open the door with trembling hands. Nothing. My anxiety ratchets up; my heart hammers in my chest.
Maybe she's playing hide and seek, I tell myself. "Lani, baby, come out. You win. Mommy doesn't want to play anymore."
Nothing. The room is silent, echoing with nothing but my heartbeat. I tear through the closet, throw open cabinets, pull blankets off every surface. My panic rising even higher , unbearable. If she isn't here, where the hell is she?
"This has to be another nightmare," I whisper, clawing at my own arms, desperate. I prick my finger—blood wells up, pain blossoms. I'm awake. This is real.
Screaming and frantic, I dash through the house. "BABY! Mommy is done playing hide and seek, come out! You won, I don't want to play this game anymore!" My voice rings out, louder, desperate, trembling. There's no answer, no Lani scuffing down the hall, no soft giggle.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I race from hallway to hallway. My chest hurts, my lungs burn, everything inside me feels like it's about to break. Lani would never leave me—never—not unless something was very, very wrong.
I finally stagger into the living room, my hair wild, panic plain on my face. The family is there, staring at me, every face a different shade of fear, guilt, worry. But I don't care about them—I want my daughter.
"Where is she," I rasp, my voice breaking as I scan the room. On the edge of the sofa, I spot it—her tiny sock, a piece of purple fabric that doesn't belong here. I rush over, grab it with shaking hands, staring wild-eyed at the family.
"Where is she?" I demand, showing the sock to anyone who'll meet my gaze. "Why is my child's sock down here?"
No one answers. The silence presses in—worried faces, fearful eyes, all of them telling me the same thing: something terrible has happened.
I clutch the sock tight, my panic rising higher than ever, and scream, "Tell me where my daughter is!"