The house had finally settled into a heavy, ringing silence. The chaos of the Sunday roast—the laughter, the clatter of plates, the warmth of family—had faded into the quiet of the night. Kyle felt every second of the day pressing down on his shoulders. He was beyond exhausted, his muscles aching with a fatigue that seemed to seep into his very marrow. As the group began to disperse, Ella and Cassandra retreated to their own rooms with lingering glances and soft whispers, leaving Kyle to seek the sanctuary of his own bed.
He didn't even bother with the lights. He stripped off his shirt in the dim glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains, the cool air hitting his bare chest as he collapsed onto the mattress. He wasn't asleep, not yet; he lay there, staring at the ceiling for a moment before pulling out his phone, scrolling absently through notifications, his mind drifting in the haze of exhaustion.
-
Down the hall, Jane was fighting a war within herself.
