I thrash on the floor, clawing at the hands locked around my throat. His grip is steel, crushing the air from my lungs. My claws rake across his mask, but the material is too dense to tear at this angle. Panic builds as the weight pressing me down feels hauntingly familiar.

Just as my vision starts to tunnel, I wrench one knee free and drive it hard into his lower abdomen. He grunts in pain, loosening his grip just enough for me to slip away. I slam the heel of my palm into his chin, sending his head snapping back, then flip away, gasping for air.

Before he can recover, I launch myself forward again, slashing at his mask in a furious blur — strike after strike, faster than the eye can follow. I block every jab, every punch, until I finally see it: a crack in the mask.

With the last of my strength, I drive my fist straight into it. The mask shatters—

—and my heart sinks.

Behind the splintered remains, bruised eyes glare at me. His nose is broken, blood dripping down his cheek. But it’s a face I’d know anywhere. The face of the only man I’ve ever loved.

Cam.

My body goes rigid. That hesitation costs me everything.

He drives a knife into my stomach.

A gasp tears through me as I collapse beside him, my fingers finding his shirt. “Cam… it’s me…” I rasp.

He freezes. “Daya…?” My name trembles out of his mouth. His hand moves to the back of my head, tugging my mask away. The hard lines of his face crumble into horror. “How could this happen… this can’t be happening…”

He cradles me in his arms, voice breaking as I stare up into his eyes — the same eyes I used to dream about, now filled twith despair.

The world grows dim. I was going to tell him everything tomorrow night… at our one-year anniversary dinner.

What a cruel twist of fate.