Night came gently.
Not the kind that arrived all at once, but the kind that settled in layers, first through the streetlight glow pressing softly through the curtains, then through the muted sound of traffic far below, and finally through the steady hum of the building itself, alive but distant, like the world continuing without asking anything of her.
Willow lay on her side facing Zane, her body still, her eyes open.
She was not asleep.
Her exhaustion lived deeper than muscle or bone, something cellular and unfamiliar, as though her body had been rewritten and was still learning how to exist inside its new instructions. Even rest required negotiation now, and trust had become a deliberate act rather than an instinct.
