The room was dim, lit only by the gentle spill of a hallway lamp through the open door.
The city murmured in the distance — cars, distant laughter, the occasional bark of a dog — but up here, everything felt muffled, as though wrapped in cloth.
Billy sat on the edge of the bed.
He hadn't changed out of his clothes yet. His socks curled slightly under the weight of his bare feet on the cool floor.
The bed was neatly made, pillows fluffed — not by him. Everything here was already perfect.
But it didn't feel like his.
Not yet.
The window was cracked open just enough for the breeze to lift the curtain edge. He leaned toward it, resting his elbow on the sill.
Down below, city lights blinked like stars.
Farther than the sky he'd grown used to.
Brighter, but not as kind.
He didn't know how long he sat there.
