Zana slept on Zane's chest.
Not lightly. Not delicately. She slept with the absolute certainty of someone who believed the world would hold steady beneath her. One small hand fisted his shirt, the other resting open against his collarbone, her breath warm and rhythmic where his heart beat strongest.
Zane barely moved.
He had learned stillness the hard way, learned it through pain and consequence and vigilance, but this was different. This was chosen. He rested back against the sofa cushions, one arm curved protectively around her, the other resting idle at his side, afraid that even a small shift might disturb the fragile perfection of the moment. His breathing had slowed to match hers without him noticing when it happened.
Willow watched them from the doorway.
