The mattress beneath Daisy's back felt too soft, like it might swallow her if she let it. Concrete walls held back forty feet of earth on all sides, and still she couldn't shake the feeling of exposure, of vulnerability. The ceiling above was a canvas of frost patterns—geometric spirals that twisted and reformed in rhythm with Christian's breathing beside her. Morning light filtered through the facility's reinforced windows, casting knife-edge shadows across his sleeping face.
Three thousand years old, and he looked impossibly young in sleep. The heavy weight of centuries momentarily lifted from his features, leaving something almost vulnerable in its wake. Her chest ached at the sight.
She traced a finger along his jawline, feeling the slight roughness of stubble beneath her touch. For
