"…Warm."
Not physically.
Clean.
That was the first thing she noticed.
No dust on her skin. No stale air. Even the old-wood smell was gone, replaced by something lighter.
Her gaze swept the room.
The bed beneath her was neatly made. The windows, once fogged, now let in clear moonlight, silver pooling over a polished floor.
The floor.
She leaned forward.
"…He mopped."
Not just swept.
Mopped. Thoroughly, like he was making sure that any stain wouldn't survive with the sheer force he had applied to the floor.
Her fingers brushed the mattress, the bedside table. Not a single speck of dust. Not even in the corners. Curtains hung evenly. Furniture had been nudged into place—no longer abandoned, but arranged.
Even the air felt… cared for.
"…Wow."
The succubus floated beside her, stretching. "Right? I told you he cleaned. But I didn't expect this level of obsession."
Evelina didn't answer.
