-Sloane Pierce:
I woke up to the soft pressure of someone's hand nudging my shoulder, pulling me out of a restless, half-suffocating sleep. My eyes fluttered open, heavy and dry from the tears that had long since crusted against my lashes.
Morning light seeped through the tall windows, the kind of pale, golden hue that should have promised warmth and peace—but here, in this place, it felt almost cruel. I blinked a few times, the blur fading into the sharp, cold image of Roxy standing beside the bed.
Her face was empty—completely drained of any trace of emotion. It wasn't just blank; it was hollow, like every feeling that once lived there had been scraped away and buried beneath the surface. Her eyes didn't meet mine for more than a second before she spoke, her tone steady, quiet, but carrying an authority that pressed against my chest.
"Wash up," she said simply. "we're going downstairs."
