IRIS
The morning comes too fast.
I roll over, groggy and unready, the cold edge of dawn slicing through my bedroom blinds. I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, hoping maybe I’d dreamed everything from the porch, the silence, the promise of training, the weight of a war I didn’t choose.
But reality sits heavy in my chest, right where sleep used to be.
I throw off the covers and dress slowly. Black leggings, a fitted long-sleeve top, and sneakers. Something practical. Something I can move in. I pull my hair into a loose tie and glance at the phone on my nightstand.
Still nothing from Darian.
A hollow pang hits me again, same as yesterday. I tuck the phone into my drawer and shut it. Out of sight. Out of reach.
On my way out, Nana offers me a cup of coffee with a smile, an
