Page 58 of In Somnis

Lennon hums again, non-answer personified, and Tessa tips her head back, glancing up at the ceiling.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “I’ve never seen muffins float before. That’s new. Don’t you think that’s weird? Wouldn’t it be so funny if you were dreaming right now?”

I huff a laugh before I can stop myself. Nice try.

Subtlety points for effort, but that’s not going to work. However, I have no idea what would work either. Blondie is too deep in the vibe. If you poke her too hard, she’ll wake up clean. No gradual awareness, just snap and gone, which would kick me out too. Which… come to think of it.

Yes, please.

Tessa steps closer and reaches out, placing a hand on Blondie’s arm. “Do you think this could be a dream?”

The dough stills under Lennon’s palms, and the muffins hold a note too long, voices wobbling.

Is she waking up?

Tessa lets go of her arm, and Lennon goes back to kneading.

“Shit. Lenny, please. I need you conscious,” Tessa murmurs.

A prick of worry settles in my stomach, but before I can shove the feeling down where it belongs, the air shifts with a pressure change, like the room inhaled and didn’t quite exhale. I scan the kitchen fast, pulse jumping, but there’s no one there. Just awareness, like being watched by something without eyes.

Fantastic.

Add that to the list of deeply concerning developments tonight.

Tessa’s smile falters a fraction, as if she feels it, too, and my gut sinks.

“Girl,” she says carefully. “Since when can muffins sing?”

I watch Blondie blink at the dough like the question has to travel a long way to reach her. Can’t Tessa see that this approach obviously won’t work with her?

Fuck it.

“You’re being too subtle.” I step out from behind the curtain, letting it fall back into place behind me.

Tessa spins, and her eyes go wide, color draining from her face so fast it’s almost impressive. “Ridge? Ridge Wells?”

“In the flesh,” I say dryly, lifting a hand in a half wave. “Which is… not technically accurate, because this is a dream, and I don’t actually have flesh here, but you get the gist.”

She stares at me like she’s seeing a ghost, which is fair. It’s not like I felt any different encountering her here.

“What are you doing in Lenny’s dre⁠—”

She never finishes the sentence because the air behind her folds.

That’s the only way I can describe it, like the space itself gives up and lets someone step through. A tall man appears at her back, arms sliding around her waist with an intimacy that’s not to miss. His chin settles on her shoulder before he smiles at me, making every hair on my body stand on end.

I know him.

Not because I’ve met him before.

Because I’ve read about him.

A hundred scattered posts online. Dead threads, anonymous comments, people describing the same man over and over again.

Dark hair.

Green eyes.