Gianna woke to the sound of her phone vibrating insistently against the bedside table.
At first, it didn't register as anything more than an intrusion into a half-formed dream. Her mind was slow, heavy, floating somewhere between sleep and awareness, tangled in fading images she didn't want to chase.
She rolled onto her side, face pressed into the pillow, hoping the sound would stop.
It didn't.
The vibration came again. Longer this time. Louder.
Her brows knitted faintly as consciousness crept in, her body still sluggish, limbs heavy beneath the sheets. With a quiet groan, she cracked one eye open and let her gaze wander, unfocused, until it landed on the clock on the wall.
6:03 a.m.
Her lips parted slightly. Who on earth would be calling her at this hour?
Her first thought was Vance. Maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe there was an issue with the designs, a file corrupted, a sudden panic before the convention.
