The clock glowed red. 2:17. The numbers sat harsh in the dark.
Raven lay flat on her back. The wide bed swallowed the center of the room. Sheets twisted around her calves. Restraints she hadn't asked for. The mattress held the musk of him. Dark wood. Gun oil. Salt from hours earlier. Moonlight bled through the floor-to-ceiling glass. Silver rectangles cut across black stone.
Her lungs pulled air in short, useless drags. Sleep wouldn't come.
She sat up.
The slip clung to the damp small of her back. Air brushed bare thighs when she swung her legs left. Feet met cold stone. The chill shot up bone. Settled low in her gut. She let it bite. Anything sharp enough to cut through the hollow opening in her chest.
