I woke up at six-thirty in the morning to the sound of the coffee machine running, which was unusual for several reasons. First, none of us were typically awake before seven on weekdays, and definitely not before eight on weekends. Second, the coffee machine meant someone was making actual coffee rather than the carefully crafted tea blends that Sienna usually prepared for everyone. Third, and most concerning, the only person I could think of who would be up this early making coffee was someone who hadn't slept properly.
I padded into the kitchen in my pajamas to find Camille sitting at the island with a mug that was definitely too large for normal human consumption, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun that suggested she had been awake for a while. She was wearing an oversized sweater and leggings, but even in casual clothes, she still looked like a fashion icon of sorts.
"Morning," I said carefully, trying to assess exactly how much caffeine she had already consumed.
