You pause outside her office, the hallway dim and still except for the faint hum of fluorescent lights. The door is slightly ajar, light spilling out in a narrow strip.

You peek in.

Addison is curled on the couch, her body rigid but exhausted. Her head rests against the armrest, one hand tangled in her red hair. Her breath is shallow and uneven. The soft scrape of her shoe against the floor tells you she kicked it off halfway through whatever torment led her here.

Her other foot, sock half-bunched at the ankle, peeks out from beneath the blanket thrown over her legs.