{Elena’s pov}
Steam drifted into the room. Stirring me awake.
The door creaked open, and Nico stepped out of the bathroom like a shadow cut from heat and bone. Damp hair slicked back, droplets of water trailing down the sharp ridges of his chest. A towel hung low on his hips, leaving too much skin—too much power—bare and unhidden.
And God help me, I stared.
I hated how easy it was to forget what he was.
How easy it was to get lost in the sharpness of him—the ink across his ribs, the scar on his shoulder, the dark, unreadable eyes that saw through every lie I wore like armor.
“Get up,” he said, voice low and steady.
I didn’t move. “I’m not your soldier.”
“No,” he said, taking a step closer. “You’re a mess. You’ve got dried blood on your thighs and dust on your skin. You look like
