Ford woke with a start. The images lingering in his mind were startling.
He shuddered slightly, trying to banish what he'd seen. Mia was dead, and her blood was on his hands! Her family was after him, and the echoes of their voices haunted him as he ran, tripping over and over again.
"Why didn't you bring her home?" He could hear still ringing in the back of his mind.
Dreams, just dreams.
He blinked in suspicion. Trace?
A gentle sigh suddenly commanded every bit of his attention. At some point in the night he'd scooted or fallen over and now lay on his side, one arm up in use as a pillow, the other wrapped around Mia, who lay curled against his chest as naturally as if she were made to fit there.
His heart pounded as his dreams reverberated in his mind.
If her family found them like this, he would certainly be thrown into the river without a moment's hesitation.
