The morning light found her first.
It came through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the specific, unhurried way of early summer light—bright and high, spilling across the office floor in slow, steady warmth, stretching over the furniture until it reached the couch and settled on Aurora's face.
She stirred.
Not fully awake yet—somewhere between sleep and consciousness, the warmth of a good night holding her under for a moment longer than usual. She was comfortable in a way she hadn't been in weeks. The warmth was everywhere—underneath her, around her, against her side.
Then she registered what the warmth was.
Her eyes opened.
She was on Liam.
