The morning light crept timidly through the curtains, painting faint streaks of gold on the pale walls. Lia Sheren sat curled at the corner of the bed, her knees pulled to her chest, the blanket wrapped tightly around her trembling frame. Her fingers were cold—ice cold—even though the room wasn't. Every time she blinked, flashes of last night replayed behind her eyes like a broken film reel—the scream, the shadows, the feeling of being watched.
Her breath came out uneven, fogging slightly in the morning chill.
Ken stood by the window, his back turned to her. He hadn't left her side since last night. When she'd frozen in fear, unable to speak, it was Ken who had pulled her back to safety, who had stayed awake through the long, silent hours while the storm raged outside.
Now, the world looked peaceful again. Birds were chirping somewhere beyond the mist. But inside the room, Lia's heartbeat still raced as if danger hadn't passed.
