The car rolls to a gentle stop in front of my house. Guards move automatically, opening the door as if they've rehearsed this moment a thousand times. I step out, feeling the night air settle over my overheated skin like a thin sheet. Everything feels too warm again… just like last month.
Inside, the house greets me with its usual emptiness—quiet walls, wide rooms, and a loneliness so familiar it almost feels like furniture.
I sink onto the sofa, the cushions swallowing me as I exhale.
My body feels heavy.
Too warm.
Too sensitive.
Like there's a slow fever simmering beneath my skin, refusing to burn out.
My eyes drifting across the room to stare at the paintings on the wall, their colors blurred by my fatigue.
My eyes slide shut, but the silence presses against me. Nothing distracts me from the strange heat spreading through my limbs.
A loud growl breaks the quiet.
My stomach.
"Perfect," I mutter. "Starving and nauseous."
