Zara
I should be sleeping.
It's well after midnight, and I see yet another long day of untangling Knox's mess looming. Instead, I'm lying in my tiny bed with my head on Locke’s tattooed chest, listening to his heartbeat and watching moonlight spill through the gap in the curtains.
The bed is losing the battle.
One of Locke's legs is hanging halfway off the mattress, his shoulder is pressed against the wall, and every time either of us moves, the frame makes a sound that suggests it has serious concerns about the future.
I smile at the thought, and he feels it.
“What?" he says. “What’s funny?”
I smile wider. "I was just thinking that my poor little bed looks like it's trying very hard to survive you."
A laugh escapes him. The sound is low and warm and still novel enough to make my s
