Chapter 10The next morning, Vince barely manages to flick on the hall light before stumbling through his morning routine, entire being throbbing with what he’s beginning to realize might just be grief. He needs a minute to get past the dull ache of it, some invisible wound originating from center mass.
He finds himself consciously monitoring his breathing, checking to make sure each inhale does what it should. No system appears to be fully functional, pulse sluggish, face pale. He does what he can. Carefully exhales.
There was a dream buried in the cottony thick middle of the night that had him waking expecting to hear a voice—singing low and silky over the sound of the kettle being set up, mumbling nonsense to the dog while warm yellow light spilled in from the c***k of the door—that wo
