Something soft brushed against his hair.
Gentle. Featherlight. Like fingers threading tenderly through his strands.
Vyan didn't open his eyes. He didn't need to. He knew that warmth, or at least the version of it that lingered in his mind.
His body, half-draped in sleep, instinctively leaned into it, as if the comfort it offered could anchor him through the fog he constantly lived in. He let it soothe the hollow ache in his chest. Let it convince him, just for a heartbeat, that maybe, just maybe, it was her.
He exhaled slowly, afraid that any sudden movement would shatter the fragile dream. That if he stirred too much, the illusion would slip through his fingers like water.
But the world, ever unkind in its timing, did not wait for him to linger.
A soft gleam of sunlight pierced through the curtains and landed directly on his face. It was warm, almost too warm. Irritating in its honesty.
His eyes cracked open.
And the moment shattered.
