The early light filtered through the thin curtains, painting the room in a muted gray. I stood by my suitcase, which was propped open on the bed, meticulously folding the last of my clothes.
My movements were deliberate, almost mechanical fold, press, stack while the muffled sounds of the hotel waking up filtered in from the hallway.
I glanced over my shoulder at Layla, still sprawled out across her bed, her dark hair splayed messily over the pillow.
One arm was flung above her head, the other tucked beneath her chin. Her face was serene, her lips parted slightly in sleep, completely oblivious to the world around her.
Unbelievable.
I'd never seen anyone sleep so deeply, so carelessly. Even after everything we'd been through the avalanche, the tension, the late-night celebration Layla slept like she didn't have a care in the world. If a bomb went off, I was pretty sure she'd just roll over and grumble about the noise.
