Abby Winters - Cleo Indiana May 2026

Indiana blinks, slow as honey. “You were in it.”

The room is pale blue with dawn. Cleo wakes first — not from alarm, but from the shift of Indiana’s breathing beside her. Indiana’s hand is open on the pillow, fingers curled like a seashell. Cleo traces the lines of Indiana’s palm without touching. Just watching. Just this. Abby Winters - Cleo Indiana

“You were dreaming,” Cleo whispers.