Dawn arrived like a hesitant confession.
Soft light bled through the curtains, spilling across the room in shades of pale gold and quiet grace — the kind of light that makes everything look fragile, as though the world itself is holding its breath.
For a moment, I didn't move. I just lay there, listening.
The faint rhythm of his breathing was the only sound — steady, calm, achingly human. It filled the stillness like a promise I wasn't sure I deserved to keep.
Mr. Evans lay beside me, half-draped in the tangled sheets, his face turned toward mine. His hair fell across his forehead in gentle disarray, a soft shadow over the lines I'd memorized with my fingertips hours ago. The edges of him looked softer now — less like the man who carried storms in his voice, and more like someone made
