#Chapter21
Ronan awoke to the feeling of being watched. It was a niggling sensation that invaded his Jenga block dream structure, and as he bolted upright, panic blindsiding him, his head whipped around the darkened room with so much force his neck cracked.
And what do you know? His instincts were not wrong. In the corner of the room, engulfed by shadows and looking as sinful as the Devil after a demon's stag party, a figure sat.
His mouth was dry, and his body was far too hot, and as disorientation took him for a magic carousel ride, his vision blurring like it was peeking down the screen of a black and white telly, he found that his limbs were unresponsive. He was trembling. The things vibrated through him, jiggling in his chest with every painful thud his heart gave. His airways had constricted, short-circuiting like tangled of cheap Christmas lights, and the cry of alarm faltered into a gasp.
