The next day? I lazed around. Like a boss. Like a woman who had conquered territory, survived nobles, dodged marriage proposals, and earned the sacred right to rot in bed. I slept so long my eyes were tired of sleeping. I slept through morning. Through lunch. Through the part of the day where productivity lives and dies. When I finally woke up, the sun was already slanting in that judgmental afternoon angle, the kind that whispers, wow, must be nice.
I stretched. Yawned. Rolled over. Sighed in satisfaction. Glorious. I had locked the door. Added sound barriers. Put on ear coverings like I was preparing for war—but against responsibility. When I finally dragged myself out of bed and opened the door—Four figures stood there.
Staring.
