The sun had been inching its way up the sky for quite some time when Andromeda’s eyes opened again. The light in the room was warmer now than the soft gold of dawn—it was unmistakably morning. Sunbeams pierced the curtains, painting distinct stripes on the bed, the floor, and Lucian’s chest. The air was calm, warm, and slow. There was no rush. Andromeda lay still for a few more seconds before she slowly lifted her head off Lucian’s arm. His eyes were already open—watching her. But he didn’t speak. He just smiled, faintly, like someone still unsure whether he was dreaming or awake.
She smiled back at him, then quietly, soundlessly, sat up on the edge of the bed. Her long hair slid down her back as the blanket slipped off, revealing her body wrapped in a pale grey nightdress. The silence of
