The morning light glows softly through the room's curtains, a warm brush across my face. My eyelids tremble before they slowly lift, vision hazy with sleep. I shift my body a little, muscles waking one by one, and my eyes blink twice to steady the blur.
A small stretch rolls through my arms and back, slow and gentle.
I stare up at the ceiling.
A long breath slips out of me.
How long… did I sleep?
The house is quiet, almost too gentle, almost like it's letting me rest—
"Good morning, kitten."
The voice slices the quiet clean in half.
I go still. Completely still.
That tone—calm, unhurried, like he owns the air I breathe.
I turn my head slowly, as if I'm afraid of what I already know.
And there he is.
Rion.
Sitting casually on the other side of my bed, legs relaxed, posture composed, eyes on me like he's been watching me sleep for hours.
My chest tightens. I lurch upright, heart pounding a little too fast.
How does he always get inside?
