The cot was hard beneath his back, but the thin mattress was not what kept Devvyn awake.
It was what happened every time he closed his eyes.
The moment his eyelids shut, he was back down in the dark tunnels. He saw the Remnant lunging out of the shadows; a towering beast of cracked stone, its hollow eyes fixed right on him. He could still hear its deafening roar, a sound so loud it had shaken the ground under his boots and made his entire chest go cold.
Devvyn flinched, his eyes snapping open. His hand was already clutching the whistle against his chest. He had not even realized he was touching it. The metal felt freezing against his skin, a strange chill that seemed to sink straight through his shirt. He pulled his hand away and let it rest on the bed, but within seconds, his fingers drifted right back, tracing the hard edge of the whistle.