The morning light felt almost indecent in its softness.
It slid through the reinforced window in pale gold bands, catching on the edges of the room and illuminating the evidence of a night that had been chosen, not stolen. The air still held warmth. Not the sharp, flaring bloom that had rattled the command hall, but something deeper and more intimate. Fox scent lingered close to skin and fabric, threaded with male heat and the faint metallic tang of blood.
Felicity woke slowly, aware first of the quiet.
The base was never silent. Even in the early hours, there was always motion, the murmur of patrol rotations, the distant clank of reinforced doors. Now, though, the building felt contained. Not asleep. Listening.
Ivan was already awake.
He lay beside her with one arm resting lightly around her waist, his gaze fixed on the window rather than the door. His breathing was even, but his body was alert in the way of someone who knew the world had shifted overnight.
