“This is…” His voice cracked, fragile and low. He swallowed, trying again. “This is the first time I’ve ever not felt him.” His hand lifted uncertainly to his own chest, as if startled to find it rising and falling on its own. “I can sense where he sleeps, but the space he used to fill in me is—” He shook his head, breath ragged. “My own.”
His gaze snapped back to her, desperate and searching. “What does it mean if I am awake and he is not?”
Goldie’s heart twisted. She cupped his face fully, grounding him with her touch. “We’ll find out together what that means,” she said softly. Her mouth curved into a smile. “You, me, and your terrifying jawline.”
He let out a shaky laugh, thin but genuine, and then leaned down. Goldie rose to meet him without hesitation.
The kiss was nothing like before. No wild clash, no desperate heat. It was a soft question and a profoundly tender answer all at once. It tasted of relief and exhaustion and the breathtaking, wondrous promise of something new.
When they finally broke apart, the sanctum was utterly still, save for the slow, deep breathing of the sleeping god. Goldielet out a long, shaky groan, the full weight of the last few days crashing down on her all at once. Her body felt like one giant, glorious bruise.
“I need a shower,” she mumbled, her forehead resting against his chest. “And sleep. Not necessarily in that order.”
Splice let out a quiet sound, a huff of air that might have been a laugh if he had more energy. His arms were still loosely around her, his presence a warm, solid comfort.
“I also want to sleep,” he said. The words landed with a quiet kind of marvel, as if he were tasting them for the first time. “Sleep,” he repeated, softer. “This is… new.”
Goldie’s breath caught. Something warm and aching unfurled in her chest as she watched this man, this being who had never needed rest, never existed apart from his god, look at the world with a kind of fragile wonder.
Her fingers brushed his cheek, tender and reverent. “Then let’s sleep,” she whispered. “We’ll figure everything else out in the morning. Together.”
“Yes,” he murmured. The single word held agreement, acceptance, and something like hope. For now, rest was enough.
They made their way upstairs in a daze, the quiet halls of Greymarket blurring around them. By the time Goldie pushed open her apartment door, the only thing either of them had left was momentum.
They barely managed to toe off their shoes before collapsing onto the bed with the quiet gravity of absolute exhaustion. Goldie curled onto her side, and without a word, Splice nestled behind her, tucking her into his body, the warmth between them steady and sure.
As sleep pulled her under, the last thing she registered was the slow, even rhythm of his breathing.
Chapter
Forty-Two
The first thing Goldie was aware of was the silence. Not the usual quiet of her apartment, which was always humming with the soft chatter of the building and the purrs of her cats, but a profound, weighted stillness, as if the world had finally run out of things to say.
The second was the solid, unyielding warmth next to her.
She pried her eyes open, the light from the window a dull, gray smear. For a disoriented moment, she didn't know what day it was. The night before was a raw, gaping wound in her memory, and the hours after were a blur of adrenaline and bone-deep exhaustion. She remembered stumbling back into her apartment, the door clicking shut behind them, and then… nothing.
A soft sound came from beside her. Goldie turned her head slowly, every muscle protesting.
Splice.
He lay on his back beside her, on top of the covers and still in yesterday’s clothes. One arm draped over his eyes, the other settled on his chest, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing.
The sight undid her. Splice, who had never slept, not really. Splice, who had always been an extension of something vaster, never his own self. Splice, simply… resting next to her.
Goldie swallowed around the ache rising in her throat. Gently, barely a whisper of touch, she pushed a strand of hair away from his brow. His face, freed of its usual tightness, looked soft. Vulnerable in a way that warmed her heart.
She pressed her palm briefly to his cheek. They’d figure out what came next. But for now, she just wanted to memorize the miracle of this moment.
The shrill, demanding ring of her phone on the nightstand tore through the quiet. Goldie flinched, and Splice stirred with a low groan, pulling his arm from his face. His leaf-shadow-dark eyes, hazy with sleep, found hers.
“Is it morning already?” he muttered, voice rough.
“Definemorning,” Goldie croaked, fumbling for the phone on the nightstand. She squinted at the screen. “Oh, gods. It’s the police. I’m sure of it.”
Splice grunted, rolling over to plant his face in the pillow. “Do you have to answer?”
