Luan did not sleep that night either.She lay in bed with her hands folded on her chest and stared at the ceiling. The apartment was dark. The blinds were drawn. Everything was in its place—the books on the shelf, the clothes in the closet, the single mug on the counter. She had spent years making this space into a cage she could control.But the thing inside her was pacing.She could feel it behind her ribs, a low thrum like a second heartbeat. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the gold eyes in the tree line. Every time she breathed, she smelled pine and smoke and the cold clean air before a storm.At 3:00 AM, she gave up.She went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Eggs. Yogurt. Leftover rice. Nothing looked like food. Nothing smelled like food.She closed the refrigerator and opened the freezer.A single steak sat on the top shelf. She had bought it three weeks ago, told herself she was meal-prepping, then forgotten about it. The meat was dark red, frozen solid, wrap
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