The first thing I notice when I wake is that I am not alone in my own head.
It is not a voice. It is not a thought that belongs to someone else. It is a presence, vast and warm and inextricably woven into the fabric of my own consciousness. It feels like the steady, rhythmic beating of a second heart, echoing in the hollows of my mind.
I open my eyes. The ceiling of our suite is painted in soft, pale gold by the morning sun. Beside me, Kade is still asleep. His chest rises and falls in perfect synchronization with my own. His arm is draped heavily over my waist, his face buried in the crook of my neck.
I do not need to touch him to know what he is dreaming. I can feel the faint, fuzzy edges of his subconscious—a quiet, sunlit memory of Asher laughing in the courtyard, underscored by a d
