NOVA
The ceiling was wrong.
Light hit the stone at the wrong angle. She had slept past her alarm, and that never happened.
She sat up. Her head made her regret it immediately, a dull pressure rolling behind both eyes when she moved. She pressed her palm against her forehead and waited. The room settled.
She looked around.
Jacket on the hook. Boots at the foot of the bunk. Bag where she always left it. Everything in its place, and yet something sat unresolved in her chest, some leftover from the previous night her memory kept reaching for and missing.
The party. Bren. The drink she had been careful not to touch.
Had she touched it?
She pulled at the last image she had. The common room, Zion taking the glass from Bren's hand. After that, nothing was clean. Fragments. Cold air. Someon
