Ukraine woke up with a violent start.
His alarm was ringing far too loudly, drilling straight through his skull and dragging him up from a sleep so heavy it felt unnatural. He sat upright at once, breathing hard, eyes narrowed against the brightness pouring through the window.
The sunlight alone told him something was wrong.
It was too high.
Too strong.
He never woke to daylight like that on a workday.
A brutal hangover crashed over him the moment he moved—head pounding, stomach unsettled, mouth dry, every careless glass of wine from the previous night returning to punish him. He winced, pressed a hand to his temple, and turned his head toward the alarm clock.
8:30 a.m.
For one blank second, his mind refused to understand it.
Then panic hit.
That was the time he was usually parking outside the Headquarters.
