Zoe's POV
The steady hum of the air conditioner vibrated through the quiet hotel suite, a low, artificial rhythm that felt entirely disconnected from the suffocating humidity waiting just outside the windows. I leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the balcony door, staring down at the sprawling cityscape. Beyond the tree line, a few miles down the interstate, lay Lakeside.
I was back. After months of running, after building something that felt like a new life in the crisp, quiet air of Vermont, I was standing on the threshold of the very place that had almost destroyed me.
My luggage sat in a silent, leather-clad heap near the foot of the king-sized bed. Keycard resting on the glass nightstand, room service menu tucked beneath it—standard, unremarkable luxury. The entire process at the front desk had been a blur of polite smiles and plastic check-ins, the receptionist slipping me keycard 412 with a rehearsed warmth that felt surreal.
