Clara didn't sleep that night.
She curled up on the living room couch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a mug of lukewarm tea balanced on her chest. The television hummed, the blue light casting quiet, slow flashes along the walls. She didn't want noise. She didn't even want music. Her own thoughts were loud enough.
She couldn't get him out of her head.
Not the public Damien—the navy blazers, wrinkle-free smiles, and glass cubicles. The other one.
The one who took a breath in her ear at midnight as if he did not fear the quiet. The one who responded with ellipses rather than lies.
"There's something I have to tell you. And I think you already know."
It spun in her head like a song left unfinished.
At around 7:00 AM, she was awake, and her eyes were heavy with that dry, sleepl
