Morning crept in without permission. It slipped through the curtains in thin, golden lines, catching dust motes in the air and laying itself gently across the room like it didn't want to wake anyone. The mansion was quiet—too quiet. No distant clink of porcelain, no Elijah announcing breakfast with that irritatingly calm voice of his. Just warmth. And scent.
Andrew stirred first. He lay still for a moment, eyes half-lidded, breathing slow. The bed was warm beside him—Tina's warmth, unmistakable, chaotic even in sleep. Her presence always felt larger than the space it occupied, like the air bent slightly around her. He exhaled softly, letting the familiarity settle him.
