Emory's POV.
The first golden hint of dawn slips through the curtains, casting a soft light over the room and wrapping everything in a delicate, amber glow. The air is still, peaceful — the kind of stillness that only comes after something beautiful, something right.
Lucian lies beside me, his face softened by sleep, his dark lashes resting against his cheek. His breathing is slow and even, steady as the heartbeat I can feel through the thin space between us. I watch him in silence, memorizing the curve of his jaw, the way his hair falls slightly over his brow, the strength in his shoulders even at rest. He looks so peaceful. So completely mine.
My fingers move without thinking, lightly tracing the mark now etched at the base of my neck — his mark. His promise. My gift. The connection b
