I woke up late the next morning. The sun filtered in through the curtains, casting warm stripes across the room. My hair was a disaster. My brain felt like cotton. And my cheeks hurt from—apparently—I’d been smiling in my sleep.
I groaned and buried my face in the pillow.
I’m pathetic.
But eventually hunger won the battle against embarrassment. After a long internal debate, I shuffled out of bed, changed clothes, splashed my face with cold water, and forced myself out of the room.
The hallway outside was quiet. Too quiet. I tiptoed toward the balcony overlooking the living area. Below, I spotted the men—Eli, Mateo, a couple others whose names I still didn’t remember—talking among themselves. Ray wasn’t with them.
My stomach tightened for no reason at all.
I took the stairs carefully,
