The smell of coffee pulled me from sleep before the sun had fully risen. I padded into the kitchen, bare feet cold against the tile, hoodie sleeves tugged over my hands like armor.
Salvatore was already there, dressed in black, his coat slung over a chair, pouring two mugs like he’d been up for hours.
“You’re up early,” I murmured, voice still rough.
He glanced over his shoulder, one brow raised. “You’re one to talk. Didn’t think you’d be awake for this.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, sliding into the seat at the island. “Too much buzzing in my head.”
He handed me a mug—no cream, no sugar. Just how I liked it.
“They land in forty minutes,” he said, checking his watch. “I’m heading to the airport now.”
I nodded, fingers curling around the warmth of the mug. “So it’s really happening.”
