—Natasha's POV—
I don’t know how many hours I slept in his car. But when I opened my eyes, I was dressed fully.
The realization seeped into my consciousness not as a shock, but as a slow, chilling tide. One moment, there was only the blank void of exhausted sleep; the next, the soft, expensive weave of cashmere under my fingertips and the crisp denim of my jeans.
My mind, still gummed with sleep, fumbled backwards, trying to find the seam between then and now. The last clear memory was the rumble of the engine, a hypnotic drone against the backdrop of my own silent tears.
The streetlights had bled into golden streaks, Zane’s profile a stark, unmoving sculpture beside me. I must have lost the fight against my own battered psyche.
And now… this. Sunlight. A clean, unfamiliar sweater. A
