You sure you don’t need me to carry you?

The sunlight streaming through the curtains hit me square in the face, and I groaned, burying myself deeper into the blanket.

My entire body ached in the best and worst way possible a reminder of Zaya's relentless energy last night.

How is she this strong? I thought, half-awake, my mind still foggy from sleep. I peeked out from under the blanket and caught sight of her.

Zaya was sprawled out on her stomach, her red hair a messy halo around her face, her breathing slow and steady. She looked ridiculously peaceful, like she hadn't been the one turning me into a pile of mush just a few hours ago.

I groaned again, dragging my hands over my face. My limbs felt like jelly, and my throat was hoarse from a mix of moaning and laughing last night.

"I can't move," I muttered to myself, flopping back onto the pillow dramatically.

There was a knock at the door. It was firm and deliberate—the kind of knock that meant trouble.