The next morning started slow, gentle—the kind of quiet that didn’t demand anything from me. Sunlight slipped through the thin curtains, warm but soft, the way mornings should feel when peace finally makes a home in your chest. I blinked awake, the room still half‑dim, Elijah’s arm draped over my waist. His breathing was deep, steady, the rhythm grounding.

For a fleeting moment, I didn’t move. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence. No panic. No tension in ...