The next morning came like a slap.
Elias had drifted in and out of sleep after the bath, dozing with damp hair on his pillow, the smell of soap, iris, and his mate's scent still clinging to him. Victor hadn't returned. For once in the last week, the manor was silent, no footsteps, no low voice, no glint of crimson eyes at the edge of the room. Elias almost convinced himself he'd dreamt the whole thing.
Then, at six a.m. sharp, the mattress dipped.
"Up," Victor's voice murmured against his ear, warm and maddeningly awake. "We're going in."
Elias cracked an eye open. The curtains still held the grey of predawn; his phone said 06:02. "In where?" he mumbled, dragging the sheet higher over his head. "I'm technically jobless. Whatever you're plotting, it's too early."
Victor tugged the sheet down with one hand, the other already smoothing his tie as though he'd been up for hours. "Numen Corp," he said simply. "From today on, you work with me."
