Elena’s POV
Morning drifted in on a soft hush. Light spilled across the floor in lazy bands, catching on the edge of Adrian’s desk and spilling over his bare shoulders as he sat reading. He looked so strangely peaceful there, dark hair a little tousled, the muscles of his back flexing with each subtle shift.
I watched from the couch, legs curled under me, a half-filled coffee cup resting against my chest. The air still smelled faintly of last night, of sweat and skin, of everything raw we’d unraveled together, but today was different. It was calmer, steadier.
When he looked up and caught me staring, his lips curved into the faintest smile. “Shouldn’t you be writing?”
“Shouldn’t you be at a hospital?”
He set the file aside, leaning back with that casual grace only he seemed to master.
