~Fallon~
I woke to the scent of citrus and the faint hum of classical music weaving through the halls like it belonged there.
For a moment, I forgot where I was.
The sheets were impossibly soft. The pillows smelled faintly of lavender and clean linen. The light spilling through the curtains was too filtered, too precise—no traffic noise, no rumble of neighbors or barking dogs.
It was… still.
And then it hit me.
Reid’s mansion. Los Angeles.
I was back.
I sat up slowly, pain blooming behind my ribs and across my shoulder. Not sharp—just heavy. The way bruises feel when they settle, when the adrenaline fades and what’s left is just… you. Hurting. Healing.
The room hadn’t changed.
The cream-colored drapes. The antique dresser that looked like it had a trust fund. The balcony I used to avoid because it made me feel too much like a rich wife in a sad movie.
I slid out of bed, careful not to twist my knee. Pulled on a robe I didn’t recognize but that definitely hadn’t come from my suitcase.
