The Awakening
Not anyone.
I swept the papers into a stack, shoved them into the false panel I had carved into the wall, and pulled the board shut just as his voice slipped under the door.
“Ava? Are you awake?”
I smoothed my hair down, inhaled once, and slipped into my usual mask before opening the door.
Alvin stood there, leaning against the frame, his expression unusually calm. But calm with Alvin was never truly calm—it was always a performance. His sharp eyes scanned my face, my posture, like he was trying to read what secrets I might be hiding.
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