"I vowed not to fight anymore if we survived the Great War."
Isadora Jones had always had mixed feelings about Billy Hargrove. Known for his charismatic yet brash demeanor, he attracted attention, but not all of it was positive. So, when they were...
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BILLY COULDN'T SLEEP.
The quiet stillness of the night had done nothing to ease his mind. Beside him, Isadora lay sleeping, her chest rising and falling in a seemingly peaceful rhythm. Her blonde hair was splayed across the pillow, and Billy, trying to ground himself, traced absent-minded patterns along her arm, his fingers barely grazing her skin. The motion was calming, but only for a moment.
It didn't last. A few minutes later, Isadora stirred awake, her body jolting as she suddenly flinched and yanked her arm away. She sat up, gasping, her breath coming in short bursts. Billy's heart sank at the sight; it reminded him all too well of the time she'd woken from a nightmare about her ex-boyfriend, just before she'd told him the truth about what had happened to her in the past. That night had stuck with him, the way she'd looked so scared and vulnerable, and now, seeing her like this again, that same worry gnawed at him.
"Is, are you okay?" Billy asked gently, his voice low and concerned, not wanting to startle her further.
"Y-Yeah, sorry..." Isadora mumbled, still catching her breath. She slid out of bed, her movements quick and shaky as she padded across the room. Billy watched her go, the unease in his chest growing. He could see the tension in the way she ran her fingers through her hair, the way she kept her back to him. There was something she wasn't telling him, something deeper. Billy had no idea that Isadora had been having nightmares almost every night for weeks now, reliving some buried trauma she refused to speak about. She didn't want anyone to know.
Isadora splashed cold water on her face in the bathroom, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. When she finally returned to the room, her eyes fell on Billy again, this time noticing the way he stood in the dim light, gazing intently toward Max, who was seated in a corner of the room, scribbling in a notebook.
Isadora paused, standing in the doorway for a moment, watching him. She sighed softly, her heart heavy with the knowledge that he barely slept. None of them had. The group had agreed to spend the night in the Wheelers' basement, their safe haven for the time being, but sleep had been elusive for everyone. How could they rest when Max's life was at risk? Vecna's curse hung over them all like a suffocating shadow, and they had no clear plan to save her.
