Henry catched only a few restless hours of sleep, and even those came with the weight of thoughts pressing down on him like iron.
His head still throbs faintly when he finally stirs, drags himself out of bed, and forces his body through the routine of freshening up.
He moves slowly, each motion deliberate, as if buying time against the morning itself. When he finally opens the door of his room, the hallway light spills in, and there is Riley, standing at the door, his hand half-raised, caught between knocking and retreating.
