The smell of coffee was the first thing that coaxed me awake. It wafted into my nostrils so easily.
For a moment, I thought I was back in Lisbon, in my little apartment above the bakery where mornings always smelled like roasted beans and fresh bread. But then my eyes cracked open, and reality crashed in.
This wasn't Lisbon. It was Jace's penthouse that was absurdly perfect with floor-to-ceiling windows, marble floors, and a view of Los Angeles that reminded you just how small you really were.
I groaned, dragging a pillow over my face. Maybe if I hid under it long enough, the world would forget I was here.
"Mira."
The pillow was pulled away, and I squinted against the light only to find Jace standing over me, looking infuriatingly composed for this early hour. He had the nerve to look casual in a white shirt, sleeves rolled, collar undone. Like he hadn't just dragged me halfway across the city in the middle of the night and vowed to burn the world down in my name.
