The soft vibration of the alarm clock tried to find its way to her bones even from beneath the pillow. Sloane opened her eyes but didn't lift her head. For a while, she just lay there, motionless, the weight of the night still resting on her chest. The room was cool, faint morning light filtering through the cracks of the window.
The silence felt different now. Not peaceful—tense. The kind you didn't break with sudden movements—only careful, deliberate routines could make it bearable. She got up. Her knee didn't protest loudly, but she had to pause before putting her full weight on it. Her shoulder still pulled, but the pain was duller. Sloane didn't sigh. She didn't curse. She had simply learned to execute every movement economically. As if she were rationing her will. She walked to the
