It's past 3 a.m. , the city remains awake outside the bubble of this room, cars blitzing past, errant voices talking, sleepy travellers and commuters and night owls filling the silence while I'm still wide awake and staring at my phone, wondering if I can call Noah this late.
The screen glows faintly in the dark hotel suite, the digital clock mocking me with its relentless march forward. My thumb hovers over his contact. My chest aches with the weight of wanting to hear his voice, to make sure he's alright, to make sure Oliver's alright. A night of feasting and rubbing shoulders with Lycan elites didn't take my worries away. In fact, it exasperated them and now sleep is even farther from me than it's ever been.
I stare at my mates contact but I don't tap on it. Because I'm a coward. Instead, I stand here listening to the traffic roll by outside our window, allowing the distant hum of cars sliding through the sleepless veins of San Diego to distract me.
