Ronan’s POV
The morning hit me harder than the night ever did. My body still carried that weight, that strange hollow weakness that wasn’t fading no matter how many times I tried to steady myself. I came downstairs slow, each step dragging more than the last, like gravity had doubled overnight.
Lisa was already in the kitchen. She had coffee waiting, steam curling from two mugs, her back stiff as she turned when she heard me. Her hands trembled, just faint, but enough. She tried to hide it by gripping the handle tighter before sliding the mug across the counter toward me.
“Drink,” she said.
Her voice didn’t carry accusation, not yet. Just worry. Just fear hiding under sharpness.
I took the mug, sat down heavy. The first sip burned down my throat, bitter, grounding. But it didn’t fix t
