Alexander’s P.O.V.

At a quarter past nine, I turn the doorknob and enter my room. The moonlight is coming through the parted curtains and casting a silvery glow across the space.

Alice stands with her back turned, lost in thought, her delicate fingers tracing patterns on the windowpane. The gentle night breeze plays with her locks, causing them to dance and sway.

As I switch on the lights, she turns toward me. Her eyes appear devoid of their usual shine, and her face has lost its previous ...