When I woke, I was in my old packhouse room. I sat up slowly, scanned the room to ensure I was alone, and looked out the window.
Sunlight spilled through the window, brighter and bolder than I expected. My phone glared back: 9am.
I never sleep in. But this morning, exhaustion pinned me to the ground. My limbs felt leaden, my chest cinched tight.
When I finally stood, I noticed I was wearing old pyjamas I’d left behind. Axel must have changed me last night.
I know I was drunk, but shame burns through my foggy, broken memories of attacking him in the forest.
I walked to the door and opened it, surprised to find no guards stationed outside.
I crept down the hall and stairs, the packhouse eerily empty.
After drifting through the silent halls, I found my way to the kitchen. I poured my
