Page 177 of Ex Somnis

“Why?”

“Because I’m stuck here.”

“Oh.”

“Hey.” She tilts my chin up with one finger. “Even if I can’t tell you when you’re awake, I tell you every night, my little world walker. You came out of me knowing things other people spend their whole lives trying to learn. You’ve always walked between places as if you belonged to all of them at once. I have made so many mistakes with you and your brother, more than you’ll ever know, more than I’ll ever get the chance to apologize for, but it never once changed how much I loved you.”

The light around us flickers.

“What’s happening?” My pulse picks up. “Mom, what’s…”

“You’re waking up.” She’s already smiling through it and letting go before I’m ready for her to. “Go. Tell them how to save her.” Her hand presses flat against my chest, right over the crystals I’m wearing because of her. “Be the light in the dark, Jasper. You were always going to be.”

The gold light folds in on itself like a page closing⁠—

And then I’m staring at my bedroom ceiling, heart thumping like I’ve been sprinting.

Before I’ve even fully come into my body, I reach for my phone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Lennon

There’s a sudden draft against my ankles that has no business existing in a kitchen with no windows open.

“Did you feel that?” I ask Mr. Muffin.

“You’ve played this song fourteen times already,” he says instead of answering, too unimpressed with my choice in pop music to worry about drafts.

“Okay, but statistically, fourteen times isn’t that many times for a good song.”

He glares at me from his spot on the kitchen counter. “It is for one sitting.”

“You don’t have a concept of time. You’re a plushie.”

“I have opinions.” He crosses his little felt arms. “And my opinion is that if I hear “Unwritten” one more time, I’m throwing myself into the garbage disposal.”

“You can’t walk. You’d have to ask for help.”

“I’d find a way. Spite is a powerful motivator.”

I’m about to argue further, but the air shifts again.

“Whoa.” The startled, breathless voice comes from behind me. “Okay. Wow. That was actually so much easier than last time.”

I turn slowly, finding Derek Wells standing in my kitchen, smiling in delight.

That’s nice. I like him.

“Hey, want a lemon sweet roll?” I greet. “It’s like a cinnamon roll but with a lemon cream.”

Derek’s smile softens. “No, thanks.”

“I wanted to bake muffins, but Mr. Muffin told me that would be rude,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“How would you like it if I made cookies with blonde hair and blue eyes and ate them?” Mr. Muffin asks.

Ew.