Dawn came like a soft benediction, the city outside still blurred in that pale, forgiving light that makes every problem look for a moment like a sketch rather than a sentence. I woke slowly to the familiar weight of Conley’s arm thrown across my ribs and Angel’s breath warm against my shoulder. For a second the day hadn’t begun at all; there was only the small, perfect universe of the mattress and two bodies and the way their breathing synchronized until my pulse calmed.
Conley slid his hand up my side and pressed his thumb into the worn little mark at my throat—the private punctuation of a thousand private nights. The gesture was so ordinary it could have belonged to any morning. Instead it read like a promise: I’m here; I keep you. I turned my face into his palm and let the world keep
