I wake slowly.
Not all at once — pieces of awareness returning one by one. Warmth first. Then weight. Then breathing that wasn’t mine.
My eyes opened halfway.
The room was dim, curtains barely letting morning light in, and for a second I stayed completely still because I thought I was imagining it.
I wasn’t.
Cassian’s arm was wrapped around my waist, heavy and secure, his face near my shoulder like he’d fallen asleep holding me and never let go. My fingers were still tangled in his shirt.
Max was half lying across the end of the bed, one hand loosely hooked around my ankle, even in sleep.
Francesco was folded into the chair beside the bed, head tipped back awkwardly against the wall. Enzo sat on the floor beside him, shoulder resting against the mattress. Probably the most uncomfort
