The next morning, the clock had already struck 10 AM when Lydia strode purposefully down the hotel hallway, her heels clicking with a sharp, deliberate rhythm that echoed in the quiet corridor. She knocked on Milo's door, impatience simmering beneath her composed exterior. She waited a beat, tapping her foot, before knocking again, more firmly this time.
After a few moments, the door finally creaked open. Milo appeared, his usually sharp features softened by sleep, his blonde curls tousled as if he had just rolled out of bed. His eyes, identical to Alex's in their piercing blue intensity, were bleary and unfocused, still clouded with the remnants of whatever he had indulged in the night before.
