The fire had burned down to ash.
I knew before I opened my eyes. The weight of his arm across my waist, the warmth of his chest against my back, the slow and even rhythm of his breathing against my neck. He slept the way he did everything else, with complete and unapologetic ownership of the space around him. Even unconscious, he took up more room than any person had a right to.
I didn't move.
The storm had passed. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sky had shifted from bruised purple to a pale and reluctant gray, the kind of light that precedes dawn without committing to it. The grounds below were scattered with broken branches and pooled water, quiet evidence of last night's violence that the early morning had not yet decided how to address. I stared at it and took inventory of myself the same way I would review a damaged file. Methodically. Without sentiment.
The tablet was gone.
