93

Asher

Stepping out of my shoes, I throw them carelessly to the far end of my bedroom. My overshirt goes next. I’m in nothing but my pants and a sleeveless undershirt when someone knocks on my door.

Drawing my hand over my face, I stare at my reflection in the closet door mirror. I’m haggard, to put it politely. If it’s Layla knocking, she’s going to take one look at the messy state of my room and conclude I’m becoming a slob. Finding the energy to be tidy isn’t easy. This listlessness goes beyond mere exhaustion.

I’m bone-tired after my talk with Camila. Every conversation we have feels like a battle. I’m not winning any of them, though I don’t think I’d feel better if I did.

The knock comes again—more insistent. Sighing, I grab the brass knob and yank. “What do you—” I stop talking. Camila stands in front of me in a thin lavender silk robe she’s thrown hastily around her shoulders. “Camila, what’s wrong?” After telling me she needed time, I expected she’d avoid me until tomorrow.

“It