The alarm blared, a shrill, merciless sound that ripped through the quiet of the morning. Zane's hand shot out, slapping blindly at the snooze button until the noise finally died with a pathetic click. He flopped back onto his pillow with a groan, the dull throb of a headache already starting behind his eyes.
I barely slept.
The alarm stabbed the quiet and Zane fumbled a hand out from under the tangled sheets to slap it off. For a second he lay there, eyes open, the ceiling a blank pale that blurred the edges of the room. He could feel the day waiting like an expectant thing—results day, the little verdict that would tilt everything into "special class" or "not special." It should have been a clean thing: another day, another checkpoint. But the tiny tilt at the base of his skull hadn't left him all night.
Everything always bends his way.
