The leak hit just after sunrise. I could feel it before I opened my eyes, the kind of tension that vibrates through your skull before your brain has even caught up. My phone buzzed across the nightstand like it had a personal vendetta.
The vibration wasn’t steady or rhythmic; it came in sharp, uneven pulses that warned me something had gone wrong. My hand fumbled for it in the dark. There were five missed calls from Nathan, a dozen messages from the crisis line, and three flagged folders marked PRIORITY. Simon’s subject line was the worst: "Containment."
I sat up, wincing as my thighs protested. My body still ached from the night before. There was heat between my legs, a lingering ache in my lower back, and a tightness in my throat that hadn’t faded with sleep. I swallowed and opened the
