**SASHA**
Morning arrives without softness, the light slipping through the narrow window in a way that feels more like inspection than dawn, and I wake already alert, already aware of the packhouse breathing around me in that heightened, watchful rhythm that only settles in when everyone knows something irreversible has begun. I lie still for a moment, listening to the distant shuffle of patrol changes and the muted clink of gear being adjusted somewhere down the corridor, and the bond hums low and steady beneath my ribs, not urgent but unmistakably awake.
Adam is beside me, turned slightly onto his side, fully dressed and asleep in that light, controlled way that tells me he never really stopped listening even when his eyes closed, and the sight of him there, grounded and solid, sends a
