Blazar was deep in sleep, hugging her pillow like it was the only comfort left in the world—which, honestly, it probably was. Her face was half-buried in the soft fabric, arms wrapped around it.
Her breaths came soft and barely audible, the kind of gentle rhythm that only came when exhaustion finally won over anxiety.
For once, the constant knot of tension between her shoulder blades had loosened, and the furrow that seemed permanently etched between her brows had smoothed away.
Then—ice-cold water hit her like a slap.
The shock of it was absolute. One moment she was drifting in blessed unconsciousness, the next she was gasping and sputtering as freezing liquid soaked through her buggy pajamas and into her very bones.
Her eyes shot open with the wild as her body went into full alert mode. Without conscious thought, her hand shot out, fingers closing around the handle of a knife she'd kept hidden under her pillow.
Who the hell dares—?
