I couldn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that text. Nobody will help you when the vote comes.
At two AM, I gave up. Got out of bed. Pulled on a sweatshirt over my tank top and pajama shorts. Padded barefoot to the kitchen.
The penthouse was dark. Silent. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the city lights filtering through the windows.
I grabbed milk. Started heating it on the stove. Aunt Clara used to make warm milk when I couldn’t sleep. Said it was magic. It wasn’t. But the ritual helped.
“Can’t sleep?”
I jumped. Spilled milk on the counter.
Lycian stood in the doorway. Shirtless. Sweatpants low on his hips. Hair is messy from sleep. He looked unfairly good for two in the morning.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He grabbed a towel. Started cleaning the spill.
“I
