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𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙸

Ana woke to warmth on both sides and a dull ache behind her eyes - not from regret, just too much tequila and too little water. One arm slung over her waist, another curled behind her head, both of them breathing softly, smelling like sex, sweat, and whatever hotel-brand soap they'd all used in a rush the night before. They'd spent the night wrapped in celebration, bodies pressed together, mouths trading secrets against collarbones, laughter spilling over lips between toasts and half-slurred confessions.

It was Asher's birthday, technically. But somewhere between her fifth shot, her hands tangled in Hypnos' hair, and moaning Asher's name into the cheap hotel pillows, it had become hers too. Their night. An escape from all the shit Ana never talked about anymore. For once, she'd let herself forget. Forget the silence that used to sleep on her shoulder, the cold half of her bed back home, the ache she carried. There was a minibar. There were hands on her hips and mouths on her throat and music that didn't stop until the sky turned black. And now, with sunlight bleeding through the curtains and her phone buzzing against the nightstand like a warning shot, reality was already creeping back in, sharp and unwelcome.

She groaned, untangling herself carefully, grabbing the device. She didn't recognize the number, but something in her gut twisted, and she answered, more curious than concerned. What followed didn't feel like news, it felt like a knife slipped neatly between her ribs. Her brain barely registered the words. No chance to say goodbye. Official notice. So sorry for your loss.