Ariane:
The sheets were cool against my skin, rumpled from tangled limbs and the desperate relief that had brought us here. No blood. No magic. Just us. Just breath.
Seris lay beside me, one arm curled beneath his head, the other tracing slow, lazy patterns along my side—circles, a gentle press of his knuckles, then back again. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my temple, the steady thrum of his heart where I tucked myself into his chest.
"I've decided," he murmured, voice hushed like a secret, "your favorite color is probably something annoying. Like 'sunset through smoke' or 'moonlit moss.'"
I huffed a quiet laugh, eyes still closed. "You think I'm that dramatic?"
"I know you're that dramatic." His fingertip slid up my ribs, making me shiver. "Come on then. Tell me. What
