The soft light of dawn spilled through the slats of the half-open blinds, washing the room in muted gold. Leonard shifted under the sheets, his eyes fluttering open slowly. A low groan escaped his throat as he sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face. His dark hair was a tousled mess, and faint shadows lined his jaw—he hadn't shaved in two days.
The room was minimal, impersonal, like a hotel suite he never really made his own. White walls, gray curtains, a single painting above the bed that did little to add warmth. His phone lay on the nightstand, buzzing silently before lighting up with a caller ID: Claudio.
