I woke to the sound of breathing.
Not the frantic drag of it after battle, not the ragged edges Lou gets when rage saws at the leash, but the slow tide of a man asleep because someone else was watching the door. His chest rose beneath my cheek, warm and steady. His wing was still draped over us like a curtain, soft gold turned dim in the early light, the thin membranes traced with faint veins that pulsed to his heartbeat.
For a while I didn’t move. The world could stay outside the span of his wing and my palm flattened over the even warmth of his ribs. The Heart Stone lay between us where it had slipped in the night, caught in the hollow above my sternum and pressed to him by the curl of his arm. Each time it pulsed, his breath answered. Each time he exhaled, it glowed—subtle, obedient,
