I woke to the persistent vibration of my phone buzzing against the wooden nightstand. A low groan escaped me as I rolled over and grabbed it, squinting at the screen through half-lidded eyes.
Megan.
Of course.
The time read 5:02 a.m.
I swiped to answer and brought the phone to my ear, already rubbing the bridge of my nose with the other hand.
“What is it, Megan?” I mumbled, still buried in the haze of sleep. “It’s five in the morning.”
Her voice hit me like a blast of cold air—wide awake, bright, and chipper.
“Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t miss your kid sister,” she said with such liveliness that I immediately suspected one of two things: either she hadn’t gone to sleep at all, or she’d been up since before dawn and had already devoured half the day.
“I missed her,” I replied dryly,
