Harper
The bed was too big for one person and that was, apparently, the whole problem.
I woke up to a shoulder that had something to say about being slammed into floor tile, and a ceiling I'd spent four rounds counting the lights on before I gave up on sleep. Emma's face kept doing the thing where it sat behind my eyelids the second I closed them. I'd stopped closing them around four-thirty.
The suite was quiet. Vane's sleeping bag was folded into a square so precise it looked architectural. On the counter sat a plate of cold scrambled eggs, a glass of water, and a note in his handwriting weighted under the glass.
Aton. Nine.
I looked at the eggs. He'd cooked these somewhere between Emma bleeding out and dawn. He hadn't slept. I knew it the way you know weather.
I ate three bites bec
