Gravity, it turned out, was a bully.
For weeks, I had felt weightless. I had been a creature of light and ether, floating above the messy realities of biology. Now? I felt like I was wearing a suit made of lead. My eyelids were heavy. My blood felt thick and slow. Even my hair felt heavy on my scalp.
I was sitting at the kitchen island, staring at a plate.
On the plate was a cheeseburger. Not a gourmet, grass-fed, artisanal creation. A greasy, messy, drippy burger that Adrien had seemingly conjured out of thin air (or a late-night drive-thru).
“Eat,” he ordered.
He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed. He wasn't the wolf right now; he was the guard. His eyes tracked every micro-expression on my face.
I picked it up. My hands shook. The tremors of withdrawal.
I took a bite.
