The house was too quiet. Noah lay beside me, his arm stretched across the sheets, but neither of us had closed our eyes in more than a few minutes at a time. Every creak in the wood, every shifting shadow across the wall felt amplified, like the house itself was holding its breath.
I rolled onto my side, watching the faint orange glow of the streetlight slip through the blinds. “You’re not asleep either,” I whispered.
“No,” he said flatly. His voice was low, raw, like gravel. “Not with the clock running like this.”
Vivienne’s words echoed in my head: Tomorrow midnight in less than twenty-four hours now, a countdown is hanging over us, and every second another thread is unraveling. I pressed my forehead into the pillow, trying to block it out, but it clung to me. My mother’s face in that
