[At Breakfast]
Emma sat at the long dining table with her chin propped lazily on her palm, eyes half-lidded and unfocused as if the world before her was slightly out of sync. Sleep clung to her like a stubborn veil, refusing to lift no matter how much she blinked or stretched her shoulders.
Her biological clock had already been thrown into disarray. Long hours of travel had done their damage, and the early morning routine that followed had only worsened things. The workout had drained what little energy she had managed to scrape together, and the cold bath that came after it had shocked her body awake without truly waking her mind.
All she wanted now was to crawl back into bed, wrap herself in warmth, and sleep for several more hours without interruption.
But the rules were merciless.
If breakfast was not finished by eight, there would be no food until late afternoon.
So she was here.
Sleep-deprived. Appetite absent. Munching on bread that tasted like nothing.
