Into Your World

9. Shelter in the Storm

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Author's POV

"You said what?" The man in his early sixties roared, his voice reverberating off the walls like a thunderclap, "You lost the book?!" His men stood rigid, faces expressionless, heads held high. Silence cloaked the room, thick and oppressive, for they knew the storm they had unleashed, "YOU LOST ONE OF THEM?!" he bellowed, the veins in his neck bulging with fury.

"We apologize for the mistake, sir," one of his henchmen spoke up, his voice steady. "I promise we'll find it along with the remaining two."

The old man's eyes flashed with an intensity that could burn through steel. In a swift, violent motion, he grabbed a cup from the table and hurled it at the henchman's face. The cup shattered on impact, shards slicing through the air as blood trickled down the man's forehead. His eyes closed briefly before he opened them again, unflinching.

"I apologize for disappointing you, sir," he said in a monotone, his voice betraying no emotion.

The man stalked towards him, fury blazing in his eyes. His henchman could see the depths of his anger, a rage more intense than he had ever witnessed. "Do you know my purpose, Miller?" the man demanded. Miller, who had served him faithfully for years, shook his head, eyes respectfully lowered.

"I have a monumental purpose, Miller. A destiny of immense importance. The eclipse is approaching, and I need you to use every resource at your disposal to find the book before it ends up in the wrong hands."

"I will, sir," Miller responded, his voice resolute. The blood now running down his face to his neck.

"I want all six of them in my hand by the end of this month. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," they all chorused.

He holds his arms and looks at him with desperation, "I can't wait any longer, Miller. Find them!"

"I will, sir," Miller repeated, his voice unwavering.

"Now go get to work!"

They bowed at him and left. As they dispersed, the air crackled with tension. The weight of their mission was a heavy shroud, pressing down on them with relentless force. A renewed determination took root in Miller's heart. He will find that book, along with the remaining three.

Liza's POV

I splashed water on my face again and again, desperately trying to wash away the remnants of the dream. But it clung to me, vivid and unyielding, flashing before my eyes with cruel persistence. Each splash only seemed to make the images clearer, sharper, and more painful. I couldn't escape it. My heart raced with a growing sense of dread as I realized that returning to my homeland after twelve long years was resurrecting ghosts I had thought long buried.

The nightmares had returned.

I gripped the edges of the sink, my knuckles turning white with tension. I forced myself to look up and meet my own gaze in the mirror. What I saw there made my heart ache. My face was a ghostly shade of pale, beads of water clinging to my skin like tiny, cold reminders of my futile efforts to find solace. My hair hung in disheveled strands around my face, and my eyes-those eyes-were wide with terror, glistening with unshed tears.

The confident Liza Kirby I had worked so hard to become was nowhere to be seen. In her place stood a frightened, vulnerable girl. The 14-year-old Liza, scared and innocent, helpless against the memories that now flooded back with brutal force.

A tear escaped, sliding down my cheek before dropping to the floor with a soft, forlorn splash. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to summon the strength I had built over the years. I had endured endless therapy sessions, and swallowed countless pills, all in the hope of burying these nightmares for good. And for a while, it had worked. The dreams had stopped, and the nights had been peaceful. But now, the thought of returning to the place that had once been my home was undoing all of that.