Saturday.
Finally.
For the first time all week, I slept without an alarm drilling into the side of my skull. No meetings. No spreadsheets. No pressure hovering over my shoulders like a badly balanced crane.
Just silence. Warm sheets. Peace.
At least, until—
> "Kai. Kai, wake up."
A soft poke jabbed my cheek. Then another. Then fingers tapping in a pattern that felt suspiciously intentional.
I groaned and buried my face deeper into the pillow.
"No," I muttered. "Not happening. I'm dead. Leave a message after the tone."
"Kai." Her voice lost its sweetness and gained authority—Celestia-authority, which was somehow more dangerous than CEO-authority. "It's nine-thirty."
"Exactly," I mumbled. "Still morning. Still sleep hours."
I felt it then, her knee shifting the mattress, her presence leaning closer, a puff of warm breath against my ear.
"Last warning," she whispered dramatically, "wake up or I'll… I'll flip you."
I snorted. "You weigh like a feather. Good luck."
