11GrayI swim toward consciousness, the thick dark dispelling a shade at a time as my mind reconnects with my eyes, and at last they flutter open. Our room is quiet and gray. Jayce’s bed is empty, her comforter strewn halfway across the floor. Two pillows are stacked in the corner, as if Jayce spent the night upright; if she slept in here at all. I glance at the door, only now realizing I fell asleep without unlocking it.
My mother’s journal lies face down on the foot of my bed. I reach forward and run a finger along the leather spine. Even though I’ll never see her again, I feel closer to her now than I have in years. The resulting ache in my chest is bittersweet.
Weak light brightens my curtains. I peel them back just far enough to peer through. The world outside is violet and black, aw
