No matter how hard he tried, Williams couldn't get comfortable enough to have a good night's sleep. The mattress beneath him felt foreign, the sheets too crisp, the pillows lacking the familiar weight and scent of home. His body tossed and turned in the quiet shadows of the guest room, but rest continued to elude him. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling as if answers would be carved into its smooth surface. But none came. Only silence and the occasional creak of the house answered him.
By the time the first pale light of dawn began seeping through the narrow windowpanes, his eyes were already wide open, bloodshot and tired, but stubbornly alert. There was no use pretending anymore. He sat up slowly, the sheets rustling against his legs as he shifted forward, settling on the edge of the bed. With a heavy breath, he dropped his elbows on his thighs and buried his face in his hands, fingers pressing against his temples like he could squeeze a plan from the pressure.
