Warmth spread across my shoulder before I even stirred—a soft pressure, lips brushing just barely against my skin.
“Elara,” Tyler’s voice was low, careful, like he didn’t want to startle me. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
I blinked against the gray morning light filtering through the still-open window. The breeze was cool, carrying that same autumn bite as last night, but it wasn’t enough to clear the fog from my head. I’d barely slept—every time I closed my eyes, I saw shadows on the floorboards and silver-touched hair under the moonlight.
I pushed myself up on my elbows, groggy, and there he was. Tyler. Sitting on the edge of the bed in loose gray pajama pants and a black shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders in a way that made my face heat instantly.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
