(Nova POV)
I wasn't supposed to fall asleep.
I was supposed to be scrubbing the last of the paint flecks off the floorboards in Damien's room, paying off the debt I still owed for smashing that portrait months ago. The council had already wiped the rest of my balance, but Damien had quietly insisted this last piece was mine to finish—alone, after hours, when the mansion was quiet and no one would see the cursed omega on her knees.
I woke up from the strange dream curled under his covers.
Still in my cleaning clothes.
Still wrapped in his jacket.
Still breathing in the scent of him—cedar, smoke, faint sweat from the alley fight.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I sat up so fast the room tilted.
The bond flared—warm, urgent, alive.
And he was there.
Sitting in the armchair across from the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, eyes fixed on me. Shadows curled faintly at his feet. He hadn't move. Just watched me.
Again.
My face ignited.
