In the Wake of Truth
(Jane’s POV)
I woke before the sun—no dreams, no alarm, just the kind of alertness that follows when something quietly comes undone.
Chicago looked washed out through the hotel window, clouds hanging low over a skyline that never stopped moving, only shifting shape.
I drank a glass of cold water and stood still, watching the city stir. A truck rolled down the avenue. One streetlight flickered, reluctant to give up. Everything moved slowly, deliberately, unbothered by attention. And that, somehow, felt honest.
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