Early the next morning, I wake up in a mass of tangled blankets and ruffled pillows. Besides myself, the bed is otherwise empty. The spot where Riot's body used to lie is bare.
Where could he have gone this early? There's barely even a slither of daylight outside and his pillow has long gone cold.
Whatever. He's not my responsibility. He can take care of himself.
After a long, satisfying stretch, I get up with a yawn. My shoulder is sore where Riot's teeth had sunk into it and my shirt is encrusted with brown, dried blood. I probably should have changed before going to bed, but I didn't have the energy to even think about it.
I peel it off, discard it on the floor, and replace it with another long sleeve one with blue arms and shoulders and a white body.
While my shirt was off, I caug
