Arora's eyes fluttered open to the dim, golden light of early morning filtering through the thin gaps of the executive blast blinds.
For a long, disorienting second, she didn't remember where she was. Her left cheek rested against the cold leather cushion of her office sofa. A thick, heavy wool coat—the one Miso had quietly draped over her in the dead of night— rested over her shoulders, shielding her from the draft. Her legs were curled up awkwardly against the armrest, and her back felt as if it had been violently twisted in three different directions at once.
She let out a low groan as she stretched one arm overhead, a nerve pinching sharply along her neck.
"Ugh... great," she muttered into the empty room, her voice raspy from sleep. "I slept like a dead raccoon."
