The night did not end cleanly; it stretched, it held and it refused to settle into something simple.
Seraphina did sleep, but not deeply. Her breathing steadied, her body finally allowing rest after hours of tension, yet her mind remained close to the surface. Every so often, her fingers shifted slightly, as if reaching for something that was no longer there.
Lucien did not move.
He remained beside her on the sofa, his posture relaxed but alert, his attention fixed on the small changes that might signal another return of the memory. He did not watch her frequently. He did not need to. Awareness had become second nature; this was no longer about strategy or duty. The feeling was there in its most basic form. He stayed because he didn't think about leaving.
The first hint of morning came slowly.
Light filtered through the glass, soft at first, then stronger as the sky shifted. The city below moved from quiet to active, the rhythm of another day beginning without pause.
