POV: Maxwell
My head felt like it had been split open with an iron axe.
I groaned, rolling onto my back. The sheets twisted around my legs, damped with sweat I didn't remember sweating. My mouth was completely dry, tasting like bitter ash and stale whiskey, and my brain felt like it was wrapped in thick cotton that someone had soaked in acid.
The bright morning sunlight stabbing through the windows of the master suite felt like an attack behind my eyelids. It sliced through the silk curtains I'd forgotten to draw last night, turning the room into a stage in under a spotlight. I threw my forearms over my eyes but it didn't help. The light was already inside me.
I reached my arm out across the silk sheets, expecting to feel the cold space I had slept next to for the last month.
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