CHAPTER 13HUNGRY
NAOMI
I woke groggy and sore and not at all rested. That seemed appropriate. I would have felt guilty for feeling good today. Not that I was in much danger of it; Damon’s absence was huge and empty, a great hollow globe on my shoulders, denser than lead. I squinted at the weak sunlight filtering through the curtains, then at my watch. Not quite six o’clock. I never woke up that early. Not without a violent encounter with my alarm clock.
“Paris?” I turned over to face the windowseat.
Paris sat silhouetted against the window, the curtain drawn aside with one hand, the other pressed to the glass. At the sound of my voice, he turned, and the light spilled across a face lightyears away from the weeping child of last night. He looked both older and younger, softer and harder
