Dane's POV:
I wake up with her hair in my face and the sound of her snoring like she doesn't have a single worry left in the world.
Who sleeps like that?
She's small—so small it still surprises me—but somehow she's taken over the entire bed. Her head is resting on my chest, her hair sprawled everywhere like it staged a quiet rebellion overnight.
She must've pushed it back at some point, overheated, half-asleep.
One leg is flung over mine, the other kicked out, claiming territory.
And she's snoring.
Like a truck.
I lift my hand and gently push her hair out of my face.
The scent of it lingers on my fingers—familiar, grounding, dangerous in how much it settles me.
My phone buzzes softly against the nightstand.
I glance at the screen.
7:02 a.m.
Missed calls from Jake. From Ivan.
My body tightens immediately, whatever softness the morning tried to give me evaporating on contact.
I try to slide out of bed without waking her, easing myself inch by inch toward the edge.
