"LEO!!!"
The scream tore through my throat, raw and jagged, shattering the silence of the hotel suite. I lurched upright, my lungs burning as if I had been underwater for hours. My nightgown was plastered to my skin with a cold, sickly sweat, and my hands were shaking so violently I had to grip the edges of the mattress to keep from falling.
The room was still dark. The San Francisco fog pressed against the windows like a grey shroud, but it was quiet. No gunshots. No screeching tires. No smell of gunpowder.
I scrambled to my left, my breath hitching until I saw the small, rhythmic rise and fall of the duvet. Leo was there. He was fast asleep, his face peaceful, completely oblivious to the massacre I had just witnessed behind my eyelids.
