The dawn of the next morning did not bring peace.
It brought war.
Courtney woke before Dwayne, something that almost never happened in the past few days. She'd spent the night drifting in and out of shallow, panicked sleep, every ghost of memory pulling her awake. Every time she blinked, she saw Sean's hand gripping her wrist in that restaurant. She felt the cold shock of being grabbed. Of being cornered. Of being powerless.
She hated that feeling more than anything in the world.
She slipped quietly out of the bed, pulling one of Dwayne's sweaters over her tank top. The fabric was warm, smelling faintly of cedar and something grounding. The apartment was still, save for the faint hum of the heater and the slow rise of sunlight across the hardwood floor.
Her phone vibrated.
She froze—but it wasn't Sean.
It was Vanessa.
VANESSA:
Are you safe?
Courtney exhaled shakily and typed back.
COURTNEY:
Yes. I'm with Dwayne.
The dot-bubbles popped up instantly.
VANESSA:
