Ayla
I woke to the faint crackle of the hearth and the weight of warmth beside me. The fire had burned low, casting flickers of orange against stone and skin. I didn’t move—didn’t even breathe too deeply—just let my eyes adjust in the dim.
Damien was still in my bed. Lying on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other stretched loosely between us. His chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of someone who wasn’t quite asleep. His eyes were open.
Watching me.
I closed mine again, just barely. Not tight just enough to make it believable. My lashes fluttered once as I adjusted, hoping he didn’t notice. But of course he did. He noticed everything. He didn’t speak. Didn’t shift. Just lay there like a shadow that had taken shape. And for a long, breathless moment, I was caught bet
