Cassandra of Troy had seen the end of worlds before.
She'd witnessed the fall of her beloved city in dreams that burned behind her eyelids for centuries. She'd seen plagues that devoured civilizations, wars that reshaped continents, and heroes who became monsters. Apollo's curse had gifted her with visions of every tragedy, every catastrophe, every moment when hope died screaming.
But this... this was different.
The dream shattered around her like broken glass, each fragment cutting deeper than the last. Her body convulsed as consciousness slammed back into her with the force of a mountain, she tore herself from sleep with a sound that wasn't quite a scream, wasn't quite a sob—something raw and primal that clawed its way up from the depths of her soul.
The sheets were soaked through with sweat that felt like ice water against her burning skin. Her throat was raw—had she been screaming? Her heart hammered against her ribs like a caged animal trying to escape.
