The morning light filtered through the window and stabbed into my eyes, making me groan as consciousness dragged me awake. I felt a sharp pain in my arm immediately—circulation cut off—along with a warm weight pinning it down.
Lira.
She lay with her head tucked close to my shoulder, her breath ghosting across my skin in slow, steady rhythms. Sleep had claimed her completely, and both of us were half-wrapped in rough sheets that had twisted during the night. Part of her bare skin peeked out from under the duvet—the curve of her hip, the smooth line of her thigh catching the pale morning light. The flowery scent of her hair drifted into my nose, something light and clean that reminded me of spring gardens.
'I should probably get up.'
I extracted myself carefully, moving with the kind of deliberate slowness reserved for defusing bombs or escaping sleeping partners. Success. She didn't even stir.
