Daniel's gone.
Claudia's safe.
Julian's here.
I exhale slowly.
Julian's breath evens out behind me. His grip loosens slightly.
I sink into the mattress. Into him.
And finally, I sleep.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
About a week later, I wake up disoriented, squinting at the light streaming through the curtains. The clock on the nightstand reads 10:43 AM.
The space beside me is empty, sheets already cool.
I stretch, feeling my muscles pull and release in a way they haven't in what feels like forever. After weeks of carrying tension in every part of my body—my shoulders bunched up near my ears, my jaw constantly clenched, my spine rigid even in sleep—I finally feel loose. Relaxed.
My slippers are right where I left them, tucked against the nightstand on my side of the bed. I slide my feet into the worn pink fuzzy things—they're ridiculous looking, but they're comfortable as hell, and Julian never judges. I shuffle out of the bedroom, padding down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Julian's at the stove, spatula in hand. He glances over his shoulder.
"Well, well. Look who decided to join the living."
I flip him off. "Coffee."
He grins, already pouring. Hands me a mug. "Lazy bum."
"I earned it."
"Fair."
I take a sip. Perfect. He knows exactly how I like it—two sugars, splash of cream. I lean against the counter, watching him flip eggs with practiced ease. The morning light catches the silver rings on his fingers.
"I think I'm ready," I say.
"For?"
"To go back to work. I kind of miss it."
His eyebrows lift. "Yeah?"
"Don't sound so shocked."
"I'm not. Just..." He slides the eggs onto plates. "Guess that leaves me holding down the fort."
I smile at that. "You'll survive."
He brings the plates over. Rye toast, perfectly toasted. Scrambled eggs. Sliced avocado. My stomach actually growls.
We sit.
But something's off. He's too... cheerful. Too awake. He keeps glancing toward the hallway.
"What?" I ask.
