(Kaelen)
She wakes before the alarm. Before the light.
That's been true for months now — her body adjusted to the pack's rhythms sometime in the second week and hasn't given them back. But this morning is different. This morning she surfaces from sleep with her hand already pressed flat against her stomach, which she didn't put there consciously, which means something in her decided it while she was still unconscious.
She stares at the ceiling.
Theron's arm is around her, heavy and warm, his breathing the slow even cadence of deep sleep. His chest against her back. The familiar weight of him, the specific warmth that she's stopped noticing as a thing and started noticing as the absence when it's gone.
She does the math.
She's been doing the math for three days, actually, quietly, in
