The sun found her before she was ready for it.
It came through the gap in the curtains at an angle that landed directly on her face — warm, specific, entirely inconsiderate of the fact that she hadn't been expecting to sleep here and had not, therefore, positioned herself in relation to the windows with any forethought. Aurora squirmed, reaching instinctively for a pillow to block it, and became aware in the same movement of two things simultaneously: she was still in her work clothes, and the bed beneath her was not her own.
Her eyes opened.
Large room. High ceiling. Furniture that was expensive without announcing itself. A king-sized bed with sheets that had the specific, persuasive softness of something that had cost considerably more than it needed to.
She lay there for one second, orientating.
Then she remembered.
She pulled her hair with both hands. "Shit."
