Chapter 80

Arya jolted awake, her heart racing as if she'd been sprinting through a nightmare. She lay there, disoriented, unsure when or how she'd succumbed to sleep.

But her dreams lingered, etched in her mind like freshly carved scars. The memories felt tangible, as if she'd lived them mere moments ago. The blood, the death, the unrelenting terror seemed too real to be mere fantasy.

A nagging sense of unease settled in her chest, whispering that there was more to her experiences in the safehouse than met the eye. The enigmatic woman, the lurking shadow, the disembodied voices, gripped her with a paralyzing fear.

Arya's mind raced, searching for answers, as the shadows in her room seemed to deepen, twist, echoing the darkness she'd faced in her dreams. Her thoughts swirled, a maelstrom of uncertainty, as she struggled to distinguish reality from the horrors her mind had conjured.

She tried to shake off the feeling of dread, telling herself it was just her imagination playing tricks on her. But