I wake up with the aggressive, annoying sensation of something tickling my nose. It’s not a cute feather-light brush either. It’s malicious. Repetitive. Like it has a vendetta.
I try to scratch it off, but it comes back. Again. The betrayal. The rage. The mental chess match I’m playing with this invisible tormentor finally drives me to the edge of reason.
I wait, lying still like a jungle predator, nostrils flaring. And the second I feel it land—
SLAP!
I smack myself right in the face.
Except… that’s not a fly.
It’s foam. Shaving foam.
Cold. Wet. Betrayal-scented.
I gasp, eyes flying open, only to see tiny footsteps sprinting out of the room, accompanied by high-pitched gremlin giggles.
“Little shitheads,” I mumble, scrubbing foam from my nose—and then I cackle when I see Caden.
