MIRA

The mansion sleeps like a beast with its breath held. Rain taps against the windows, steady but sharp, as if the sky itself is warning me to stay awake.

I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying Damian's video in my head, the grave, the roses, his voice. Each detail slices through the fog of exhaustion and plants itself deeper into my skin.

I can barely sleep and when I finally drift off, it’s not rest, it’s collapse, and maybe that’s why I don’t feel it at first. The ...