A soft sob echoes through the room, and with effort, I open my eyes, trying to locate where the sound is coming from. Once I'm fully awake, I get up and walk to the balcony. There Giselle is—her frail shoulders shaking with every quiet sob that escapes her lips. I remain behind her for about five minutes, motionless, trying to give her a moment of privacy. When I sense she's calming down, I clear my throat.

"There you are," I mumble with a yawn. "I thought you’d be having breakfast." A ...