The next three days dissolved into something Elena couldn’t properly name. They weren’t marked by sunrise or sunset, meals or sleep, but by Julian’s moods his warmth and his cruelty flowing into each other so seamlessly that she stopped trying to predict which version of him would appear.
Time inside the glass house was elastic. It stretched when she was alone and snapped tight whenever Julian entered a room.
On the first morning, he woke her with coffee.
Not the bitter kind from the campus café, but something rich and fragrant, served in a porcelain cup that had no business being held by trembling hands. He sat beside her on the edge of the bed, brushed her hair back from her face, and pressed a kiss to her temple as if nothing in the world was wrong.
“You didn’t sleep,” he said softl
