Franz slept.
The chaos of the previous night had eventually dissolved into a heavy, dreamless sleep. Hours before, his apartment had been a storm of drunken chaos—two girls pounding on his door at ungodly hours, slurring about heartbreak, justice, and raccoons. Now it was quiet, finally. A silence that seeped into the cracks of his walls and into the knots of his bones.
He woke to the soft, grey light of morning filtering through his blinds, a sense of calm so foreign it was almost unsettling.
He stepped out of his bedroom barefoot, running a hand back through damp, disheveled hair.
On the couch, Emphera and Lena were still there.
