The mattress creaked softly as I stood. Morning light hadn't yet reached the horizon, but it didn't matter—we weren't here for sunrises or poetic goodbyes.
Anika stirred first, rubbing sleep from her eyes and blinking at me beneath the tangle of her dark hair. "How do you find it comfortable to sleep in your mask?"
I glanced down. The grin of Mr. Jester still covered my face. "Force of habit."
Elliot groaned from the armchair, twisting like a cat on hot bricks. "What time is it? Feels like someone poured cement into my spine."
"Time to move," I said, already turning on my heel. "Train departs in a few hours, and I'd hate to miss my dramatic window exit."
We gathered in the kitchenette, such as it was—a busted stove, a couple chairs, and a fridge that hummed louder than it cooled. I cobbled together a breakfast of questionable eggs and toast that tasted more like the pan than the bread.
