The next morning, Alicia woke up aching all over.
Another night plagued by nightmares—she'd been desperately running, resisting, losing all sense of time in the endless chase.
She let out a bitter chuckle. Dreams and reality really were two sides of the same coin.
The room stood empty now. On the desk lay a note from Carlos, his effortlessly elegant cursive flowing across the paper—a stark contrast to her own chicken-scratch handwriting.
"Go downstairs and eat breakfast yourself!"
That same frigid tone he'd used for years. Alicia rolled her eyes, rubbing the sleep from them before flopping back onto the bed, burying her face into the pillow.
Her stomach growled emptily, yet the thought of food turned her insides. Her head swam with dizziness. Jet lag, she reasoned, yanking the blanke
