POV: Aurora
I climb the stairs as if each step weighs twice as much.
Dante's car stays below, a dark block stuck to the sidewalk of my neighborhood. I don't look back. If I do, I know I'll want to go back down. And that's enough for today.
I open the door to my apartment and am greeted by the familiar smell: stale coffee, books, cheap detergent. My safe place. Or it used to be.
I leave my backpack on the couch, take off my shoes, and turn on the living room light. Everything is the same as it was this morning: the unwashed cup, the messy blanket, the open notebook with Seraphim's notes.
I am not the same.
I lock the door. I reflexively double-lock it, even though I never do. The click sounds louder than usual.
I go straight to the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, flushed cheeks, eyes shining in a way that has nothing to do with fatigue.
