Drystan lay sprawled on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it might offer some answers, though his mind refused to quiet. Each passing second felt heavier than the last, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like an unseen force.
The room, though silent, seemed alive with memories and ghosts of the past. The faint creak of the window swaying in the night breeze blended with the echoes in his head, memories of Sadiki, Carl, and everything else he had lost. They circled him relentlessly, like vultures over a carcass, refusing to let him rest. The stillness felt suffocating. Sleep wasn't just elusive, it was impossible.
With a frustrated sigh, he sat up abruptly, running his hands through his hair in a futile attempt to ground himself. The tension in his chest only grew, refusing to loosen its grip.
