Klaus hadn't slept for three days. The once sharp and calculating glint in his eyes had dulled, replaced with a haunted, distant look. He stumbled through the grand corridors of the Lionhart estate, his steps heavy, his mind a fog of confusion and exhaustion. Dark circles marred his usually pristine face, and he felt as if the world around him was slowly unraveling. It wasn't just sleep he was missing—it was his grip on reality.
The nightmares had started abruptly, violently. Each night, the scenes grew more vivid, more intense, blurring the line between dream and memory. Each time, he would awaken drenched in sweat, gasping for air, with Dudu's small paw resting on his chest, as if to remind him that the horrors weren't real. But they felt real. Too real to ignore any longer.
