Eiravyne stirred the next morning to the sound of something shifting near her.
Her eyes blinked open slowly, still heavy with sleep—until she noticed the figure seated at the edge of the bed.
Urag.
His back was to her, broad shoulders hunched slightly, elbows resting on his knees, as though he'd been sitting there for a while.
His head was lowered, one hand running through his hair, the other clenched loosely by his thigh.
She didn't say anything at first.
Just stared.
The morning light was pale, casting soft shadows across the room, but even in that gentle glow, she could see the tension radiating from him.
His shirt was slightly wrinkled, as if he hadn't slept at all.
"Urag?" she finally whispered.
He didn't move for a second.
Then slowly, his head turned just enough for her to see part of his face.
His expression was unreadable—but something about it made her chest ache.
"I… I didn't mean to wake you," he said, voice low and rough. "I was just… checking."
