On nights like this, the world beyond the glass feels far away—like a story I used to believe, once, back when my name didn’t have a price on it.
I sit hunched at my desk, spine curled; a wolf with its hackles raised, eyes dragging over Leila's letter. The note looks mundane on the surface. Too mundane. No warmth in the script, just the safe, stiff lines Leila used when our tutor hovered near. Danger code, buried in etiquette. It yanks my heart up behind my teeth.
Jax is snoring in the other bed—sometimes soft, sometimes deep enough it buzzes the boards. I keep half an ear trained on it, counting the exhale-pause-inhale sequence, marking every shift.
The beds are narrow enough that if I roll the wrong way, my shoulder hits the wall. Tonight, I keep my back pressed to the support, cocoon
