(Angela’s POV)
The first sound I truly heard in three days was my own breathing. I had chosen to shut out every other voice—even Rose’s, my dearest friend.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t been alive in those seventy-two hours. My chest still rose and fell in uneven patterns, my heart still kept its stubborn rhythm. But nothing in me had felt like living. I was only suspended, like an animal caught in a trap.
The restroom had become a cocoon of silence and tears. The tiles were cold, and the mirror showed me a face I didn’t want to see.
My hair was messy, my lips were dry, and my eyes were swollen from old tears. Even the air felt heavy and stale from staying inside so long.
Rose had been patient, far more patient than I ever thought she could
