Jasmine's POV
The city outside my window was still wrapped in a gray haze when I finally gave up on sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the dead man's photo. His eyes, dull and lifeless, kept pulling me back to the reality I could not escape.
I dragged my fingers through my hair and paced the length of the penthouse like a caged animal. The air felt too thin, every breath sharp against my lungs. The paper with coordinates and names lay on the coffee table, half-crumpled from my restless hands. Each time I walked past it, my eyes swayed to the ink, and my chest tightened. A map of danger. A trail of blood.
"Coffee. I need coffee."
Something simple. Something normal.
I went to the kitchen, the cold tiles pressing against my bare feet like needles. The chill climbed up my legs, making me shiver even though the air was still. I moved on instinct, filling the kettle, the rush of water breaking the silence that had grown too heavy, too alive.
