The morning light filtered through the apartment windows, painting everything in soft gold. Snow still clung to the rooftops outside, but inside, the atmosphere was warm, bright, and… comforting.
Noah stirred under the blankets, hair falling messily over his forehead. He squinted at Aarush, who was seated at the small kitchen table, laptop open, coffee in hand. The lawyer’s brow was furrowed—not with stress, but concentration. He had promised himself a plan, and he was executing it meticulously.
“You’re up early,” Noah mumbled, stretching, voice rough sharp but calm. “Under protection. And in need of strategy.”
Noah sat up, running a hand through his hair. “I hate it when you’re right.”
“Not going to argue that point,” Aarush said smoothly. “Instead, we’re going to fix this. Together.”
