The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden. Khione woke first, her head resting on Nero's chest, his arm still around her. She lay still for a moment, listening to the steady beat of his heart, the slow rhythm of his breathing. The night had been long, intense, and she felt a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the fire.
She slipped out of bed, wrapped a robe around herself, and padded to the small kitchen. The refrigerator held eggs, bread, butter, a few vegetables. She set to work, moving quietly, letting the familiar motions soothe her. The eggs went into a pan, sizzling. Bread went into the toaster. She sliced vegetables, arranged them on plates, and poured two cups of tea.
By the time Nero emerged, showered and dressed, the table was set. He stood in the doorway, watching her. She looked different in the morning light—softer, younger, more real.
"You didn't have to," he said.
She shrugged. "I wanted to."
