The morning light in the hotel room was different from the light at home — filtered through heavy blackout curtains that didn't quite meet in the middle, casting a sharp, artificial seam across the carpet. I woke not to birdsong or the hum of the house, but to the silence of a secure suite: no creak of floorboards, no whistle of the kettle, no bark from Shadow. Just the low hum of the HVAC and the muffled hush of traffic from the highway below.
I lay still, letting my eyes adjust to the gray light, my body heavy with the adrenaline dump of the day before. The vote. The testimony. The count. 220 to 219. One vote. It already felt like something that had happened to someone else, in a different life. Marcus was awake beside me, flat on his back, hands clasped over his chest, staring at the c
