Elena's POV
I must've fallen asleep in his arms. Again.
When I woke, it was morning light—not harsh, but soft, like the world was giving me permission to keep going. Julian was gone from the couch, but the blanket was still warm. The scent of coffee drifted in from the kitchen.
I sat up slowly.
No nightmares.
No flashbacks.
Just quiet.
It was the first time in weeks I'd woken up without choking on dread.
I padded barefoot into the kitchen, finding Julian at the counter, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy. He looked over his shoulder when he heard me and smiled softly.
"Morning."
"Morning," I said. "You didn't have to cook."
"I didn't," he replied, holding up a mug. "Just coffee. Unless you count pouring cereal."
I smiled faintly, taking the mug from his hand. Our fingers brushed.
And for a second, we just stood there. No company. No Amira. No past. Just now.
"Thank you," I said.
His brow furrowed. "For what?"
"For staying."
