ZIVA
Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden.
Ziva woke slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves instead of the usual violent jolt of panic.
She'd slept through the night.
No nightmares. No waking up gasping for air, covered in sweat, reaching for a gun that wasn't there.
She lay still for a moment, processing this small miracle.
The bedroom door was open. She could hear sounds from the kitchen. Coffee brewing. The quiet clink of a mug.
Tyrell.
Always Tyrell.
Ziva sat up, pulled on one of his hoodies that she'd claimed as her own. Padded out to find him.
He wasn't in the kitchen.
She found him on the balcony, leaning against the railing, watching the sunrise paint the sky in shades of pink and orange.
He didn't turn when she approached. Just shifted
