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She notices; I can feel her tense, then exhale. If I shift just a little, I could slip my hand into hers. The awareness of that possibility sets my nerves alight, but neither of us moves.

We’ve held hands before, but not in abed. It feels almost taboo to even want it.

Minutes pass. The murmur of voices downstairs fades. My eyelids grow heavy. The warmth of the bed, the steady sound of Roan’s breathing beside me, and the knowledge that—for tonight—I’m not alone, finally starts to lull me toward sleep.

“I’m here,” Roan murmurs.

So quiet, I almost miss it.

Warmth blooms in my chest. I close my eyes, let the dark cradle me.She’s here.

And for the first time in too long, I feel safe enough to drift off, leaving my fears to rest beside me, overshadowed by the gentle presence of the woman lying next to me.

Roan

Iliethere,eyesunfocused on the low-lit ceiling, pretending my pulse hasn’t just leapt into my throat. Even with the muted glow from the lantern on the table, I can see the curve of Aria’s cheek and the damp curls of hair clinging to her temple.

She’s so close that her scent lingers in the space between us—soap and firewood and something distinctlyher, something that curls around my senses and settles deep.

It’s a reminder that I’m sharing a bed with someone I’ve come to know too well—and still not enough. Someone I've bled for and fought for as though my own life depended on it.

It’s scandalous, in a way. Irresponsible.Foolish, even.

After Garrick and Selis, I swore I’d never let anyone close enough to carve themselves into me again. I’ve prided myself on staying two steps removed, prepared for the worst.

But now, I’m lying here beside her, muscles thrumming with tension…and something soft. Something dangerous. Something that doesn’t belong in the same breath as survival.

My hand twitches, itching to shift just a little closer. But I keep still. Frozen. Watching.

Her eyelids flutter, heavy with exhaustion, and gradually her breathing slows. Deepens. Each exhale longer, steadier than the last.

Sleep draws her in with a gentleness that makes my chest ache.

Is it possible to be jealous of sleep?

Because I am. I’m jealous of the way it touches her without fear. The way she surrenders to it, safe enough in this moment to let go. I’ve fought to keep her alive, to hold off the horrors that follow her like a shadow—and sleep just… slips in and steals her away from me.

Her mouth softens, lips parting slightly. The sharp lines of her face blur, smoothed by dreams. Hopefully good ones. She deserves good dreams.

There’s a hush in the room now. Not silence—no, this is deeper. A kind of sacred stillness. A pocket of quiet that feels like it belongs only to us.

It takes all my willpower not to reach out too soon, not to disturb her peace. Peace like this is rare. And the last thing I want to do is take it from her.

But I can’t help myself.

Once I’m certain she’s asleep, I let my hand slide across the blanket, until the tips of my fingers hover just above hers. A whisper of contact—skin to skin—makes my pulse flutter wildly.

What are you doing, Roan?

My mind hisses the warning, but my heart overrules it.

Carefully, I turn on my side, facing her fully. The smell of her damp hair lingers between us, and I breathe it in, unable to look away from her tranquil face.

The plan was to keep watch. To stay alert. But I find myself watchingherinstead, and the combined warmth of Aria’s body and my own exhaustion seeps in, loosening every tight knot in my limbs.

Before I realize it, my eyelids begin to droop, the pull of sleep subtle but relentless. I try to fight it, clinging to that last shred of vigilance—but the bed is too soft, her presence too steadying, toosafe.

And without meaning to, withoutwantingto, I begin to drift. Closer to her. Closer to sleep.