CLAUDE
I PRESSED MY palm flat against my tie, smoothing out invisible wrinkles as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My own eyes looked foreign—empty, like I’d already been hollowed out.
A sigh slipped from my lips. Too quiet. Too weak. I clenched my jaw, forcing my expression into something passable before turning away to my nightstand. My fingers curled around the drawer handle pulling open the drawer.
Lupenol.
The small, familiar bottle sat at the top, right where I’d left it. I picked it up, rolling it between my fingers before twisting the cap off.
It wasn’t real medicine—not even registered. Just something my father forced on me, a chemical solution to my problem. The first time I’d asked where they came from, I was nine. He’d ignored me. By the time I was twelve
