Chapter 1051
“I was protecting you,” Julian said softly. “His consciousness is battering the walls of this illusion. If you fully connect with the raw agony and despair he’s feeling in reality, your own mind will shatter before your body gives out. The dream will collapse, and you’ll be lost in the toxic chaos—unable to find your way back.”
“Julian, what is happening?” Skye demanded, her voice trembling. “Where are we?”
Julian looked down at her dress. “You shouldn’t have worn red, Skye.”
“Why?”
“Because red looks too much like blood.”
Skye frowned. She looked down at her silk skirt.
Her breath caught in her throat. The bottom edge of the dress was wet. Thick, dark crimson liquid dripped from the hem, pooling on the white marble floor.
It was the blood from the vault. Bastian’s blood. Liam’s blood.
She let out a short, terrified cry and stumbled backward. She blinked hard, shaking her head.
When she looked down again, the blood was gone. Just red silk.
Julian sighed—a sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world. “Your time is running out, Phoenix. The toxin is reaching its peak. And my time… my time is already gone.”
“What do you mean?” Skye grabbed his lapels, her hands shaking. “You’re right here!”
Julian didn’t answer. He gently pried her hands from his jacket and took a step back. He offered her his hand.
“Dance with me, Skye. One last time.”
There was no music playing. The guests were still frozen.
But Skye placed her hand in his. Julian pulled her close, resting his hand on her waist. They began to sway slowly in the dead silence of the ballroom, a private orbit in a paused universe.
Skye rested her head against Julian’s chest and closed her eyes, seeking comfort.
Then she jerked back, her eyes wide with horror.
She pressed her palm flat against the left side of his chest, directly over his heart.
There was nothing. No thud. No vibration.
Beneath the warm fabric of his suit, Julian’s chest was completely, terrifyingly still.
“Julian,” Skye whispered, her hand trembling against his motionless chest.
The warmth she had felt from him all day was rapidly fading. The fabric of his suit felt like ice beneath her palm.
“Don’t focus on that,” Julian said softly, continuing to guide her in a slow, silent circle. His eyes were fixed on her face, memorizing every detail.
Then the heavy oak doors of the ballroom burst open.
The crack of wood hitting stone shattered the frozen silence.
A man sprinted into the room, chest heaving, tie askew. It was Felix, Julian’s assistant.
Skye stared. Felix didn’t belong in this dream. He wasn’t part of the Sterling Manor fantasy. He was a glitch.
“Boss!” Felix screamed, his voice cracking with panic. “He’s breaking through! Alistair is attacking the perimeter!”
Alistair.
The name hit the dream like a physical blow.
In this perfect simulation, Alistair Thorne did not exist. He was a variable the toxin couldn’t process—a force of nature too violent for this pristine world.
The moment Felix spoke the name, the massive floor-to-ceiling windows lining the ballroom exploded inward.