By the time I entered the room, the sun had traveled halfway across its path. Mid-afternoon rays seeped through the tall windows, gentle blurring the edges of the apartment into a cozy haze. It was peaceful, not in a stressful way, but the gentle buzz of a home when no one was observing.
Sienna and Alexis weren't around. Evelyn, too, probably off walking the perimeter or brooding on the balcony. Which left me with exactly one guess about the lump curled up under the velvet throw in the master bedroom.
Camille.
I softly opened the door. Sure enough, she remained asleep—turned toward the window, her hair partially entangled in the pillow, and one arm hanging off the bed as if she had surrendered to gravity's pull around midday. Most likely earlier. Her breaths were slow and steady, a subtle rise and fall beneath the covers.
I stepped inside, boots silent against the carpet. She didn't stir.
"Sleeping beauty," I murmured.
Still nothing.
