Early in the morning, sunlight filtered through the wavering curtains. In the large study, a single beam pierced the dimness, shining directly on a woman.
A woman was half-leaning against a table leg, her hair slightly disheveled and draped over her shoulders.
Nia Mitchell kept her eyes closed, then groggily opened them. The raw, gritty sensation made her eyes particularly uncomfortable.
UGH...
She gently shifted, looking around. Only then did she remember she was in the study.
The study?
Nia Mitchell rubbed her throbbing forehead, a hangover splitting her head. Having slept on the hard floor of the study all night, her entire body ached.
"Uncle Peary?"
Nia Mitchell scratched her hair, looking around, but she didn't see Maxwell Peary.
Strange, where's Uncle Peary?
Why would Uncle Peary let her sleep in a place like this?
"Uncle Peary?"
Nia Mitchell stood up and saw her phone discarded to one side.
"The battery's dead."
