Seraphina's Point Of View
An hour passed. Then another.
The three of us sat in the bright, morning-lit living room, bathed in the sharp sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The panic had morphed into a strange, suspended reality, one where time seemed to stretch and thin, refusing to move at any normal pace.
Every minute felt like both an eternity and no time at all, the seconds blurring together into a single unbearable stretch of waiting.
Mason busied himself making a fresh pot of dark coffee in the kitchen, the rich, bitter aroma filling the apartment, though none of us had touched a single cup. He kept glancing at his phone between pours, his jaw tight, as if checking for a message that refused to come.
