The next day.
Jinx was already awake in her new room. The bed was softer, the walls were warmer, and the air did not smell of mold and neglect.
But even with her surroundings changed, she could not sleep. Her body still remembered the old room—the cramped space, the cold drafts, the way she used to lie awake listening to the silence and wondering when the next blow would come.
She stood at the window, watching the sun creep over the horizon. Pale orange light spilled across the snow-covered grounds, painting the world in soft, golden hues. Her stomach grumbled loudly, breaking the quiet.
When was the last time she had eaten a good meal in this house? Not the scraps left outside her door. Not the cold leftovers the kitchen staff shoved at her like she was a stray animal. A real meal. Something warm and filling.
