Continued from Angel from Montgomery: Part 4
The light of dawn is cold, its thin fingers spreading across the glass panels, long and slender like a skeleton’s. Felix rubs his eyes, the movement splintering his awareness with a pain that shoves him into wakefulness. He looks down at himself. His wrists are bandaged, as are his ankles. He sits up, confused, and stares at the fragile white ash in the woodstove, which was a fire the night before.
