Matio Rodriguez
I woke before the sun, before the city, before reason.
Sara was still asleep against me — her head tucked under my chin, her breath warm on my collarbone, her fingers curled into my shirt like she forgot to let go during the night.
For one suspended moment, I didn't move.
I didn't breathe.
I just watched her.
Her lashes were still damp at the tips. She must've cried last night, maybe while I held her. Maybe before she came to me. Either
way, the truth was right in front of me:
She trusted me enough to sleep on me.
That realization did something to my chest.
Something unfamiliar. Something dangerous.
I brushed a thumb lightly across her shoulder, barely a touch, more instinct than intention. I shouldn't have. I knew that. But she
made this exhausted, tiny sound
