Liam's P.O.V.
The dream started the way it always did—bright and warm. The air smelled of fresh-cut grass and the faintest hint of wildflowers. I remember the warmth of the sun on my face, the soft giggles of children playing, and the way my tiny fingers curled around the delicate yellow flower I had just plucked from the ground. I was four years old.
I didn't know much about the world back then, but I knew that flowers made people happy. My father always gave them to my mother, and she would smile in that way that made everything feel warm and safe. So, when I spotted the closest girl, I did what I thought would make her happy. I gave her the flower.
Mai Blackwood.
She had light brown, beautiful curly hair and icy silver eyes that looked right through me. I remember how she stared at the flower in my hand, then at me, her lips curling into something I now recognize as cruel amusement.
