NICHOLAS'S POV
Simone's weight pressed against my chest, light as breath. Her hair spilled like ink over my skin, tickling with each exhale. For a moment, I let myself watch her.
The softness in her face when she slept. The little crease between her brows that never smoothed out, not even here, not even after what we'd done.
I should have been at peace. Instead, bile rose in my throat.
Because this was temporary. Too temporary. And I knew better than to mistake moments like this for anything but weakness.
'Weak men become dead men.'
The words beat inside my skull like a second pulse. Irene's words. My father's words. My own.
Carefully, I shifted Simone off me and slid from the bed. She murmured something in her sleep, reaching for me, but I didn't let myself linger.
