Sky of Dreams

Copyright © 2023 by Kate Renae All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in written reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise — without prior written permission from the author. This book is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and settings are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, events, or settings is purely coincidental or used fictitiously. Published by Kate Renae CONTENTS Chapter 1 Day One Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Day Ten Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Day Thirty-Nine Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Day Fifty-Five Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Day Sixty-Three Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Day Eighty-Two Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Day One Hundred Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Day One Hundred Sixteen Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 The Day Lia Died Chapter 32 Day One Hundred Eighteen Chapter 33 The Story Continues July 2023 Author’s Note Acknowledgments About the Author SKY OF DREAMS REALMS OF RADIANCE BOOK ONE KATE RENAE To those who are silently drowning. Keep fighting. 1 KENYA Kenya Sawyer had run from that hole in the ground. Two years ago, it had ended with handfuls of dirt, her black dress, and a closed casket buried six feet under. Now, her body was frozen. She couldn’t fix what she’d broken, but here she was, in the dark. Standing in front of a familiar door. Her door. Lia’s door. Her heart pounded, making it hard to think, to breathe. This door — it meant familiarity and loss, hope and dread. No more running. Her knuckles knocked on wood. She held her breath. A few hard steps — and the door swung open. The top buttons of his dress shirt were loose. A piece of dark hair curled on his forehead, his blue eyes sharp as they dawned in recognition. Memories flooded into her mind: the three of them eating out of an ice cream carton on the floor, driving down the Pacific coast with the windows down, a pristine museum with beautiful white walls. Then three had become two, dressed in black and standing at the edge of a crowd. “Hi, Luka,” she said softly. She saw the wave pass through him. His jaw locked along with his elbow, his fingers tightening around the door frame until she was sure he’d slam the door in her face. The silence stretched between them, taut and freezing. The nighttime air bit at her skin. Still, he said nothing. Walking away now would be an irreversible decision. If she turned around, she’d never see him again. So she took a deep breath, stoking her determination. “Are you going to let me in?” she asked quietly. His jaw twitched, but otherwise, his face was made of stone. Then he stepped aside. “It’s your house.” The flatness of his voice made her wince, but she stepped in before he could change his mind. Warmth hit her, banishing the shiver that echoed down her spine as she passed the threshold of a dead person’s home. She’d forgotten that San Francisco was surprisingly cold for the California coast. Its icy winds always whipped around the hills and right up her scalp. Luka made sure that she never got within arm’s length. As soon as she stepped toward the door, he strode down the hall, toward the kitchen. Kenya exhaled, closing the door and allowing herself a moment’s breath. She let his rejection bounce off that dark wall of indifference she’d rebuilt. Then she straightened and followed him. The house was intensely clean. As she settled on the bar stool at the counter, she noted the differences. The adjoining living space was mostly in darkness, except for a flat screen mounted on the white wall that played a silent newscast. He’d upgraded the television, the couch. The art that had once hung on the walls was gone, the touch erased. Lia’s art. “It’s different,” Kenya said softly. Luka’s gaze burned into the side of her face from across the counter. The discomfort made her itch, so she turned to face him. She’d forgotten the lines that traveled from his biceps to his shoulders, the edge of his jaw, the lift in his cheekbones. Or maybe he’d changed too: all of him seemed more defined, sharper. The coolness of his eyes cut through her as he stared. Others might have been cowed by that expression — but she could never fear Luka. Of what he thought, maybe. But never him. Kenya glanced down and cleared her throat. “How… how have things been?” “Fine.” She refused to flinch outwardly, even if his tone stung. “Did you graduate?” “A year ago.” “Oh. Early, then.” He didn’t answer. He only stood there, a few inches of counter separating them. She averted her gaze, looking just over his shoulder at the kitchen cabinets. Over the last two years, she had imagined this moment over and over. When she signed the volunteer contract that took her abroad, she was determined not to think about him. It was too painful to think about him, about Lia, about… all of it. Still — she’d sat here a thousand times, wincing at the hostility in his eyes. He still didn’t speak. She didn’t know what else to say, except, “I’ve come back.” He watched her for a moment. “Why?” She didn’t know one word could be so flat. This Luka wasn’t wholly unfamiliar. He’d always been a bit standoffish, even curt at times. Lia always called him the broody one. “Did they ever find him?” she said quietly. His emotionless mask shifted, but then all hints were wiped clean again. “Is that why you’re here — for closure?” The sharp words hit her wall of indifference and left