Warmth. That was the first thing Arik felt. Not the sharp light of the chandeliers, not the hum of conduits buzzing like angry bees in his skull, not even the press of silk sheets under his skin.
Just warmth.
It wrapped around him steady and unyielding, the kind of warmth that smelled faintly of mint and paper and something sharper beneath it, his father's scent. Arik shifted instinctively, burrowing closer, his nose pressing against the fabric of Gabriel's shirt.
The faint rise and fall of breath beneath his cheek settled him, the rhythm so steady it made the last scraps of fear unravel. He didn't even have to open his eyes to know where he was. Safe. His father's arms around him, holding him like he was the only thing that mattered.
A quiet sound escaped him, not quite a word, not quite a sigh, and he snuggled closer, small fists curling into Gabriel's shirt. The tension in his chest loosened by degrees, like knots undone.
