Theo
Theo dreamed of rain.
Not the soft kind.
This rain came down hard, silver and violent under streetlights, turning pavement slick and red.
He was twenty again.
Bleeding.
Angry that he couldn't stand.
More angry that he was scared.
The world tilted above him—blurred faces, shouting, the sharp bite of pain in his ribs. Someone screamed for an ambulance. Someone else told him not to move.
Then a girl dropped to her knees beside him.
Curly hair damp against her cheeks.
Hazel-green eyes sharp with focus.
Small hands pressing down hard enough to make him gasp.
"Stay with me."
Theo laughed weakly in the dream, tasting blood.
"You boss everyone around like this?"
"Yes," she snapped. "Especially people bleeding on the pavement."
He remembered that part vividly.
Not because of the pain.
Because of her.
The way she didn't ask who he was.
Didn't care what his last name could do.
Didn't look at him like a Calloway heir, a liability, or a headline waiting to happen.
