The morning sun didn't ask for permission. It sliced through the gap in Liza's curtains—a blade of pure, unforgiving white light that bisected the room and landed directly on my face.
I didn't flinch. I didn't groan or pull the covers over my head like the old Samantha would have. My eyes simply snapped open, my mind booting up instantly from the deep, restorative trance that passed for sleep these days. There was no grogginess, no sticky residue of dreams. just an immediate, crystal-clear awareness of everything in the room.
The dust motes dancing in the sunbeam. The faint, rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall. The scent of stale popcorn and the deeper, muskier scent of what we had done the night before.
And the warmth pressed against my side.
