{Third Person}
A week later, the nights were still not quiet for Amara.
Sleep had become something fragile, something that slipped through her fingers the moment she thought she had grasped it.
This night was no different.
Amara stirred in her bed, her brows drawn together as discomfort settled deep in her chest. She shifted slightly, then suddenly jerked awake.
Her breath came unevenly for a moment as she sat up, her eyes wide, before she forced herself to calm down. A slow breath left her lips as she pressed a hand lightly against her chest.
The images of blood and a lifeless body lingered. They always did. That moment, Alexander's hand gripping the dancer's head. The sound. The aftermath.
Amara squeezed her eyes shut briefly, as if that alone could push it all away. But it didn't. It never did.
She exhaled quietly and slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Ginger, who lay curled up and fast asleep.
