The sun found her first.
It came through the floor-to-ceiling windows the way July sun came through them—already insistent at this hour, the full golden weight of a summer morning that had been awake longer than she had. Aurora lay in it for a moment with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling, letting reality reassemble itself around her at its own pace.
Saturday.
She lay still for a few more seconds, blinking at the ceiling with the particular blankness of someone whose mind hadn't fully caught up with their body yet. Then she sat up. Stretched—the full, unselfconscious stretch of someone alone in their own bedroom, arms above her head, a soft yawn escaping before she'd decided to let it. She drove her hands through her hair. Rubbed her eyes.
She looked down at what she was wearing.
