The moon hung high, Inside, the night had taken a strange turn.
Draka sat at the edge of the bed, his sharp gaze fixed on the woman who now sat farther from him than usual. Aria.
He noticed the subtle shift in her manner—the way her eyes didn’t linger on his, the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her hands trembled slightly when she thought he wasn’t looking.
Something was wrong.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice low and calm.
Aria blinked once, then turned toward him with a small, practiced smile. “Nothing. Just tired.”
Draka frowned but didn’t press further. She was hiding something, but she'd speak when she was ready. He hoped. Still, a nagging unease sank into his gut. He was learning her tells—and this one spoke of something deeper than simple exhaustion.
-----
Morning came
