Bree
“Are you shopping for anything particular?” I asked Savannah, my voice scratchy from sleep as I watched her from my bed.
She sat at her desk with the precision of someone who had done this routine a thousand times before, leaning close to her mirror as she swept a line of black liquid across her eyelid. Her wrist moved with such steady confidence that it looked like art more than makeup. I hadn’t even managed to convince my legs to swing out from under the covers yet, but she was already putting on a flawless show of being awake, alive, and perfectly put together.
My first night in Walton Tower had been… a lot. Too much, really. Every creak of the building, every shuffle of feet in the hallway, every muffled laugh carried under the door had reminded me that I wasn’t at home anymore
