The morning came far too quickly.
I groggily opened my eyes to find that Rachel was still clinging to me, her golden hair sprawled over my chest, her breathing slow and steady. The warmth of her body against mine, the faint scent of her lingering perfume—it was dangerously comfortable.
For a brief, fleeting moment, I allowed myself to enjoy the quiet.
Then—
Knock knock.
My brain, still foggy with sleep, barely processed it.
Then the door opened.
And standing there, framed in the morning light, was Kathyln Creighton.
I froze.
Rachel didn't even stir, blissfully unaware of the impending disaster.
Kathyln's gaze flicked over the room, landing on me—still in bed—then at Rachel—draped over me—before settling back on me with the slow, deliberate calculation of someone mentally filing this information away for future use.
"I was looking for Rachel," she said, her voice as calm as ever. "She wasn't in her room."
I opened my mouth. No words came out.
