Ronan
The morning light filters weakly in through the curtains—thin, pale, and far too gentle for a day like this.
I woke before Ivy, which wasn't anything new. She has always loved her sleep since she returned, but this kind of sleep is different. She’s curled against my side, one arm lying over my chest. Her breathing is slow, her hair spilling across the pillow. Normally, she sleeps warm, radiating heat even in winter.
But lately…
Lately, she’s been cold.
And tired. Too tired.
Her body sinks deeper into the mattress as if gravity has doubled just for her. My chest tightens seeing her like this, even more so when I remember the way she trembled after healing Max and the others—the way she swayed on her feet for the first few days afterward. How she insisted she was fine even when h
