I shut the door to my room and leaned against it, letting out a long exhale. The chaos of the living room faded, replaced by blessed silence.
The early afternoon light filtered through my half-drawn blinds, casting elongated shadows across the floor.
I crossed to the desk where I'd placed Bartholomew's terrarium. The immortal snail was methodically devouring a piece of lettuce, his tiny mouth working with relentless determination.
He seemed completely unbothered by the morning's drama or my near-death experience with Braxton. The little gastropod's single-minded focus was almost enviable.
"Well, Bartholomew," I said, tapping lightly on the glass, watching as he continued his meal without pause. "That went about as expected. Got my ass handed to me, established dominance over the pack through strategic humiliation, and made Natalia jealous enough to stake her claim publicly. All in all, a productive morning."
