It is the fourth day.
I know it's the fourth day because I have been counting the sunrises. They are the only way I can anchor myself in this strange, shifting existence. The sun comes up, painting the apartment in shades of gold and dust, and I am still here.
Ronan sits at the heavy oak desk in the corner of the living room. The afternoon light casts long, melancholic shadows across his broad shoulders. He has his laptop open, but he hasn't typed a single word in over an hour. He is wearing a pair of large, black noise-canceling headphones, staring blankly at the screen.
I drift closer to him. My feet make absolutely no sound on the hardwood floor.
I stand just behind his left shoulder, leaning in slightly. The screen is open to a music player. A single track is playing on loop. The t
