Her fingers find me—
Landing.
Warm.
They settle low at my side, light at first, then a fraction firmer—like she’s making sure I’m solid under her hands.
I feel that.
Every inch of it.
I don’t move.
I let her have it.
The steadiness.
The weight of me, right here.
Her eyes lift.
Amethyst in the morning light—soft, unsure, a little dazed—and threaded through it, something brighter.
Alive.
There.
Ares rises with it—quiet, immediate.
Not a push.
A knowing.
She’s here.
Her curls slip forward across her cheek, catching the light. She doesn’t fix them. Doesn’t seem to remember to. She’s watching me like the space between us is new and she doesn’t trust it yet.
My hands falls into her curls. The silk of it threads through my fingers as I gather it at the nape, guiding her closer—
