The morning sunlight filtered through the half-closed blinds, warm and deceptive in its calm. Elise stirred against the sheets, the weight of the previous night settling over her chest like a stone. The world outside looked clean—washed of its sins by the rain—but inside, the air still carried the heaviness of everything unspoken.
Jaxon sat at the small table near the kitchenette, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from his shower. He looked almost domestic there—like he belonged in her space. A steaming mug of coffee sat between them, untouched.
“You should eat something,” he said quietly.
She managed a faint smile. “You sound like my mom.”
“Yeah, well, your mom probably doesn’t burn toast like I do.”
Her lips curved slightly. The joke was small, but it worked. For a moment, the worl
