AT:M2P 65

Sirra dreamed of Tentin completely remade as Alissa Vander's pet reporter, with matching hair. He carried no air about him, a mere sycophant to her whim. What made him Tentin wafted away whenever she opened her mouth, until he was nothing more than an extension of her hands, smeared over rags and tabloids under his name.

She woke up in a not-quite unfamiliar room. The architecture of her family's estate, while smaller, was the same. She gathered they'd been built within a century of one another. Outside, the waves lapped the rocky beach, imparting a false sense of comfort.

Sirra felt no comfort. This was the viper's den, as far as she was concerned. She'd made sure to note whose room was where as closely as she could, and stayed up to hear any passing steps in the night. She hadn't, and eventually slept, to be woken up by a dream she had to admit was a knot of her own disquiet. She didn't want Alissa to taint him.