Some mornings hit different. The sky’s that pale gray where it’s not really night anymore, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like day. The world’s still half-asleep. People are leaving for work. Engines starting. Doors closing. But it still feels empty.
I’ve been working on this story for a while, about people stuck in the same apartment building, going through the motions, carrying their own quiet baggage.
This is Owen. She works nights. She’s hanging on by a thread.
Here’s a little piece of Chapter 1:
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