The ceiling was doing that thing again where it became more interesting than sleep.
I blinked at the plaster, my brain firing on maybe two cylinders. The guest suite at Valentine Manor was too quiet. No traffic noise. No Mrs. Delgado yelling at someone through the walls. Just silence that felt wrong.
My eyes drifted closed.
Then opened.
The door was cracked. Just slightly. A sliver of hallway light cutting across the carpet.
I didn't remember leaving it open.
I turned my head on the pillow, groggy as hell, my thoughts moving like honey in winter.
Someone was in my bed.
Purple eyes stared at me from inches away. Wine-red hair spilled across white sheets. Soft curves pressed against my side under the blankets.
"Finally," she breathed. "You woke up, baby."
My brain stuttered. "Who—"
Her finger pressed against my lips. Warm. Soft.
"Shh." She shifted closer. "Don't ruin it."
