Caroline woke before the alarm and lay still, counting sounds, assigning them meaning.
Behind her, a warm breath brushed her shoulder, steady and unguarded, and an arm rested across her waist like a line drawn in the dark.
Thorne.
The safety of it should have softened her. Instead, it made something inside her ache—because comfort was never free. It always came with a price tag, even if you didn't see the numbers yet.
She eased out from under his arm. The sheets whispered. Thorne made a quiet sound, half-asleep, and turned his face into the pillow. He didn't wake.
Caroline locked the bathroom door and stared at herself in the mirror while the faucet ran. Her face looked calm. Her hands looked capable. If anyone had asked, she could have said she was fine and sounded convincing.
Fine
