I woke before he did — a rare occurrence.
Aquasteine's arm lay heavy across my waist, his face buried in the back of my neck. His breathing was slow and even, the kind of sleep that belonged to a man with no regrets. I lay still, listening to it, feeling stupidly, dangerously safe in a bed that wasn't mine, in a world I'd been dropped into by accident.
Then I remembered his casual promise from last night: We'll go see your parents tomorrow.
He'd said it like it was a small kindness. I'd nodded like an idiot, too afraid to admit I had no idea what my "parents" in this world looked like, whether they were sick, dying, or simply estranged from the version of Ravine who had existed before me.
