The bedsheets are wrinkled on the other side. A perfect dip.
I never sleep on that side.
I step backwards.
The mirror catches me.
Hair tangled. Face pale. Eyes wide and glassy, like prey caught in a trap she didn’t know she’d walked into.
I don’t look like I’ve just woken up.
I look like someone dragged me out of a nightmare and dropped me into a new one.
The notebook is still on the bedside table. Slightly off-centre. The corner curled up.
My fingers twitch.
I don’t move towards it.
Not yet.
Instead, I crouch beside my dresser. Bottom drawer. Far back behind the stack of old art supplies I pretend I still use.
My hand finds the paper before I see it.
The coffee sleeve is still there.
Stained. Torn on one side.
DAMIEN.
Below it—my name.Raven.
Same handwriting. Sharp. Slanted. Confident, like he owns everything he touches.
I stare at it for too long.
I don’t blink.
The voices come back one by one.
“You already knew it was him.”
“You invited this.”
“You were always going to let him in.”
I fold the sleeve in half and shove it into my pocket.
I walk to the window.
I unlatch it. Slide it open.
The air hits my face. Damp. Sharp. Early-morning city rot mixed with something colder.
I don’t look out.
I just stand there, eyes closed, breathing it in.
