"Audrey."
The soft call brushed against the edge of her consciousness, gentle but persistent, like the careful nudge of a pup's nose against a resting wolf. Audrey stirred slowly, half caught between sleep and waking, her senses taking a moment longer than usual to align.
When her eyes finally opened, she found Bonnie already awake.
The little girl sat beside the bed in her pink pajamas, feet dangling above the floor, hands folded neatly in her lap. She didn't fidget or speak. She simply watched Audrey with wide, patient eyes—eyes that had learned too early how to wait quietly, how to take up as little space as possible.
There was no childish impatience in her expression. Only a soft, aching stillness that came from loneliness.
For a brief moment, Audrey simply stared, disoriented. Then the events of the night slid back into place, settling into her mind like a returning tide. She pushed herself upright, her movements slow and careful.
