EMMA'S POV
Morning did not arrive gently. It came with a dull persistence, light pressing through the curtains in slow increments, as though the day itself was testing whether he was ready to face it. He lay still, eyes open, listening to the distant hum of the city waking up. Somewhere below, a door slammed. A motorcycle coughed to life. Voices drifted upward, blurred and indistinct. Life continuing, indifferent to the weight that pressed on his chest.
Sleep had abandoned him hours earlier. What remained was that familiar space between rest and wakefulness where memories replay themselves without mercy. He had tried to silence them, tried to focus on breathing, on the rhythm of his heart, but the night had been long and unforgiving. Every choice he had made recently seemed to line up in his mind, demanding to be judged.
