Alexander didn’t sleep.
I knew that before I opened my eyes.
There was a particular stillness to a man who stayed awake all night—not the loose quiet of rest, but the rigid calm of vigilance. The kind that sharpened the air. The kind that made a room feel smaller.
The curtains were still drawn when morning came, but light bled in around the edges, thin and pale. I lay on my side, facing away from him, counting breaths I didn’t need to count.
Behind me, his presence pressed close. Not touching. Hovering.
Waiting.
“You’re awake,” he said finally.
“Yes.”
He shifted, the mattress dipping slightly as he rolled onto his elbow. I felt his gaze on the back of my neck, heavy and intent.
“How long?” he asked.
I considered lying.
“Ten minutes,” I said instead.
He exhaled, slow and control
