Noah woke up to an empty bed.
He lay there for a second with one arm over his eyes, trying to remember which planet he was on. Then the ceiling came into focus, plain grey, with a water stain in the corner shaped a little like a duck, and he remembered. Home. His room. His actual bed, which was so much softer than he remembered that his back had apparently decided to forgive him for six months of sleeping on rocks.
He reached across the sheets. Still a little warm on her side.
There was a note on the pillow, folded once. He flipped it open.
••Went to train. You snore. Come find me. L.••
Noah stared at it. Then he laughed out loud at the ceiling, by himself, like an idiot, and dropped the note on his chest.
"I don't snore," he told the duck.
The duck didn't argue.
He showered, found a shirt that still fit, and walked out into the corridor with his hair still dripping down the back of his neck.
The faction was already loud.
