Chapter 12

Barry pov

The morning sun cracked through the blinds like it had a vendetta. Sharp rays sliced across the floor, highlighting every damn thing wrong with the space.

I stepped out of my room, barefoot, shirtless, and already irritated. My eyes dragged down the corridor, past the crooked photo frame Camelia kept promising to fix, to the living room that looked like a scene from a low-budget apocalypse.

Cushions on the floor. A throw blanket tangled in a mess. Empty snack wrappers lounging like they paid rent.

What the hell?

“Camelia?” I muttered under my breath, my voice laced with confusion more than anger—for now.

I moved toward...