Glenda's POV
I found myself curled up on the familiar couch in the Garcia living room, my legs folded beneath me as I nursed a coffee that had lost its warmth ages ago. Above me, the sounds of Ximena moving around her room drifted through the ceiling. Getting ready could take her anywhere from minutes to hours, depending on her mood.
The house felt unusually peaceful today. Golden afternoon light filtered through the venetian blinds, casting lazy patterns across the hardwood floor where tiny particles of dust danced in the stillness.
For the first time in what felt like forever, this place didn't pulse with tension or whispered conversations or the weight of everyone's expectations. It just existed, quiet and ordinary.
Well, mostly ordinary.
My phone screen lit up as I checked it for the hundredth time, scrolling through messages and noting the obvious absence of any response from Anton. His silence from last night was eating at me more than I cared to acknowledge.
