“What sort of dream?” Hardin’s voice is nearly a whisper, and his thumbs are still gliding, slowly as ever, across the skin just under my eyes. “The kind that you have,” I reply, my voice equally hushed. A sigh leaves his lips, and he frowns. “Since when? Since when do you have my sort of dreams?” I take a moment to collect my thoughts. “Only since I found him, and it’s only been twice. I don’t know where they’re coming from.”
