Samnýtt hljóð

The squeak of the couch springs is the only confirmation I need. You've retreated. Back to your designated island of penance. The adrenaline that had spiked through me leaves as abruptly as it arrived, leaving me limp and chilled. I remain perfectly still under the covers, my ears straining, dissec…

The squeak of the couch springs is the only confirmation I need. You've retreated. Back to your designated island of penance. The adrenaline that had spiked through me leaves as abruptly as it arrived, leaving me limp and chilled. I remain perfectly still under the covers, my ears straining, dissecting the sounds from the living room. The soft rustle of the blanket. A deep, weary sigh that carries through the thin walls. Silence descends again, but this time it's heavier, denser. It's no longer