Doom

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on Paige's face. Her head throbbed, and her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. The memories of last night flooded back—the revelation that had sent her spiraling into a whirlwind of emotions.

Paige pushed herself up from the bed, wincing as the room spun around her. She stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face. The mirror reflected a disheveled woman with bloodshot eyes and tangled hair. She looked like a mess, and her mind was no better.

As she shuffled back to the living room, her gaze fell on the table. There, lay a note. Paige squinted at the handwriting, her pounding headache making it difficult to focus. It was from Clinton.

"Paige," the note read, "I've gone out early this morning. Something urgent came up. Take this hangover reliever, and I'll explain everything later. Be safe."