The house does not ease into the day. It mobilizes with a quiet sense of direction that feels deliberate rather than frantic, as if the walls themselves understand that the coming days are not about recovery alone but about reclaiming ground that almost slipped away.
Willow wakes before sunrise with awareness already awake in her chest. For a few moments she remains still, feeling the steady weight of Zane's arm across her waist and the even rhythm of his breathing against her shoulder. Her knees ache beneath the lighter bandages, a dull reminder of impact and healing. The line of her incision feels tight when she inhales deeply, not sharp but present, a subtle tension beneath the surface that insists on being acknowledged. She stretches one arm slowly across his chest, fingers brushing through the warmth of his skin before tracing along the edge of his stubble. She leans forward and presses a gentle kiss along his jaw, lingering just long enough to feel him stir.
