The house hummed with a strange electricity, like a metal wire pulled taut and ready to snap. Angel’s presence had altered the atmosphere in a way I couldn’t name—less like a visitor and more like a probe, a smart instrument slipping into every seam of Conley’s life trying to find the fault lines. I felt them all; I could sense the tension in the air, the way every footstep in the hall sounded loaded with meaning. It made my skin crawl and my blood boil.
That morning started with an ache that wouldn’t quit. I woke with his hands etched into my skin and a jealousy sharp as a blade cutting the fresh edges. I had promised myself I wouldn’t beg, that I wouldn’t beg for his attention or his reaffirmation. But the cold space Angel had carved into Conley’s day felt like a wound. I dressed slowly
