Allyson's POV
After what seemed like endless hours buried under blankets, I finally managed to pull myself from bed. My body still carried traces of weakness, but the crushing fatigue had lifted enough for me to crave something beyond the suffocating walls of that bedroom.
I had been hiding there all day, and not just because my body demanded rest. Hiding felt safer than facing the inevitable confrontations waiting for me downstairs. Reagan would want answers I wasn't ready to give, and Michael would bring complications I wasn't prepared to handle.
My throat burned with thirst, demanding attention I could no longer ignore. The empty glass on my nightstand mocked me, and I knew there was no avoiding it anymore. I needed something cold and refreshing.
