“There’s an orange juice by the bed.”
The voice was soft, unmistakably Sebastian’s, and that was impossible because Owen had locked the door, and the window, the moment that Craig had left. Still…juice would be nice. His throat was parched, his tongue was thick, and his head hurt. He felt all the hell of a hangover without any of the pre-benefits. His fumbled his fingers over the flooring, searching for the promised drink, too tired to actually sit up, and too heavy to make his hand do much more than flump pointlessly. A drag of sound suggested movement, and Owen sighed when the touch of cool glass met his knuckles. He tried for thank you, but the words came out so garbled that even he had to question what he’d actually said.
“Are you well?”
Owen opened blurry eyes and, yes, the moonlig
