Morning crept in slowly, soft light slipping through the thin curtains and settling over the tangled sheets like it had nowhere else to be. The room still carried the quiet aftermath of the night, warm and a little disordered, as if it hadn't quite decided whether to return to normal yet.
Regina woke gradually, her lashes fluttering before her eyes opened halfway. For a few seconds, she didn't move at all. She simply lay there, her gaze unfocused, her breathing slow, like she was floating somewhere between sleep and memory.
Then she shifted slightly—
—and felt it.
An arm draped around her waist, heavy and secure, holding her in place like it had every right to be there.
Her brows drew together faintly.
She looked down at it.
Then over her shoulder.
Mikhail was still asleep, his face relaxed in a way that didn't match the man from the night before. One arm was under his head, the other wrapped around her, his grip loose but instinctive.
Regina stared at him for a moment.
