Shirley
Morning light crept through the thin curtains, spilling across my living room like it was trying to convince me the world was normal. Dust floated in the beams, catching on the air as I moved about with a rag in one hand and a half-full bucket of water in the other.
The bar had drained me these past weeks, and Zara had insisted I take a day off. “Rest, or I’ll drag you by the hair and lock you in your own room,” she’d snapped, shoving a broom at me. I had rolled my eyes, but the truth was… I needed the space. Space to think. Space to breathe without Dante’s shadow suffocating me.
So here I was, on my knees scrubbing a corner of the floor that probably hadn’t seen a brush in months, pretending like the world outside wasn’t collapsing into chaos. WHO had declared open hostility. W
