Morning arrived gently.
No alarms.
No system chime.
Just pale light slipping through the windows and spreading across the wooden floor like it was testing whether it was welcome.
I woke up on the couch.
Not alone.
Arcelia sat upright beside me, already awake, posture relaxed but alert out of habit. Lyra was half-draped over my other side, her head resting on my chest, breathing slow and even. One of her hands clutched my shirt like she'd decided sometime in the night that letting go wasn't an option.
I stayed still.
Moments like this felt fragile—like moving too quickly might remind the world we existed.
The house creaked softly as the wind passed over the hill. It didn't sound old. It sounded… aware. Like it was listening along with us.
Lyra stirred first.
She blinked once, then twice, then froze.
"…Good morning," she said quietly, not moving.
"Morning," I replied.
She didn't lift her head. Just adjusted slightly, more comfortable now that she was awake enough to realize where she was. Arcelia noticed, the corner of her mouth lifting in a restrained smile before she looked away politely.
No one rushed to separate.
Eventually, we moved—slowly. Breakfast was whatever we could find: bread, fruit, something that might've been jam. It tasted better than it had any right to.
While Arcelia checked the perimeter outside, Lyra leaned against the doorway, watching me.
"You slept," she said.
"I always sleep."
She shook her head. "Not like that."
I paused. "…Like what?"
"Like you weren't waiting for something