At the Stroke of Midnight

He knew.

The realization struck her like a bolt of lightning, and it was only the warmth of his hand on her elbow that kept her upright. How else could she explain the determination beneath his soulful gaze?

He was iron, wrapped in the finest velvet.

“Rey,” Ben spoke at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

Yes, she wanted to scream. I am the masked woman who waltzed with you underneath the moonlight. The one who ran away when the clock struck twelve. The one who lost her shoe at the foot of the stairs.

But he had to say it first. He had to.

“Rey.” He took a deep breath, eyes fixed upon her expectant face. “I need you to help me find her.”

Her dreams were made of glass. And in that moment they had shattered.