Page 159 of Ex Somnis

I put my phone away without waiting for a response.

Nevan is still wrapped in the blanket, his face in my boobs. He tightens his arms around my waist, just a little, and I let myself be pulled closer. It’s only Nevan and me out here as the sun continues to rise.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“Don’t be. This isn’t something you’re doing on purpose.”

“I know, but that’s somehow worse. At least it’s not an insult this time.”

“An insult?”

Nevan leans back to look at me. “Every time I sleepwalk and write on stuff, it’s always something mean.” He laughs once, but there’s no humor in it. “Stupid. Idiot. Worthless. Things like that.”

Something in my chest hurts. “Nev⁠—”

“That’s my subconscious telling myself what I really think.”

My hand finds his hair again, and he immediately leans into it. “I’m going to have a serious talk with your subconscious again.”

“The weird part is that I’m dyslexic. I mix letters up. Always have. Reading’s hard, but I can manage if I take my time, but writing’s harder. Especially when I’m tired.” His eyes find the wall again. “Those messages are always spelled perfectly.”

I follow his gaze.

REMEMBER YOUR PROMISE

Perfectly legible.

“Did you know that in dreamscapes, text doesn’t work properly?”

He frowns. “It doesn’t?”

“It shifts around. Changes. If you look away from a book for even a second, it’ll say something different when you try to keep reading. People use it as a reality check to figure out if they’re dreaming.”

His eyebrows pull together. “Really?”

“Really.”

“So this isn’t your subconscious writing something on the wall. This isn’t dream text.” A shiver crawls down my spine. “This is someone taking something from a dream and bringing it here.”

“You think This Man wrote it?” Nevan’s eyes go wide.

“No.” I swallow. “You wrote it. But this isn’t your subconscious. It’s his message. He’s only using your subconscious to talk to your consciousness.”

I can see it, Lucien standing in whatever nightmare dimension he’s made for Nevan, talking, repeating things, and planting thoughts. And Nevan gets up and carries them into the waking world.

A messenger who doesn’t even know he’s delivering the message.

The thought makes me feel vaguely sick. Because why? Why Nevan?

What does Lucien get out of this?

“It has to be him,” I mutter. “He is… let’s say a little obsessed with promises.”

Nevan holds my gaze for a moment. “Could be. Yeah.”

“You promised him something?”

“I…” He looks genuinely lost. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. But he said he’s been in my subconscious for a while now, right?”