The classifieds ink bled faintly on Mya’s fingertips as she flipped through the thin pages of the local paper. The apartment was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the muted chatter of the television, which she’d left on mostly for company.
The room was too small for silence to be comfortable. Every sound carried—the creak of her chair when she shifted, the faint drip of the bathroom faucet she still hadn’t fixed, the scuff of her slipper against the linoleum. She hated it. The stillness reminded her of how empty her life had become since she walked away from Damon’s mansion. The mansion had been cold, but it had been large; silence could get lost in its halls. Here, silence crowded her.
She circled a posting for a receptionist—minimum wage, no experience required—befo
