Elena’s Point Of View

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that hummed in your ears, that pressed against your skin like a living thing, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. I lay there, still as stone, my breath shallow, my fingers curled into the sheets beneath me. The city lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the room in streaks of gold and silver, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts across the walls. 

The air smelled of him… whiskey, ...