The first light of morning slipped through the curtains in pale streaks, brushing over tangled sheets and bare limbs. The room held that fragile kind of quiet that only existed before the castle fully woke. Distant birdsong, the faint rush of wind against stone, the soft crackle of a dying fire.
Callen woke first. For a while he didn’t move, just watched the rise and fall of Zaria’s breathing where she lay curled against his chest, her white hair spread across his arm like spilled moonlight.
His fingers found the smooth line of her spine on their own, tracing idle paths, reassuring himself she was real. Here. Warm. She sighed at his touch, shifting closer even before her eyes opened. “I didn’t dream last night,” she murmured, voice rough with sleep.
His hand stilled, then continued
