Loch Lomond, ScotlandMay 15
William Stannard lay in bed staring at the ceiling, even though the ceiling was the last thing he was aware of.
More than anything, he was aware of an excruciating headache. The migraine pounded his left temple and its surroundings so hard that he felt like his left eye was about to flow out of his head. Normally, at this time he’d be sitting in front of his computer monitor, but now he wasn’t even able to crawl to the bathroom for a wet towel.
Earlier in his life, he’d had migraines almost every week; he had a hazy suspicion that before, his head had betrayed him simply because he’d put too much into it. Now he got them at maximum once every six months. Of course, when he did, it was worth it.
He had a vague suspicion that his head’s rebellion had something
