The first thing Damien noticed wasn't the light.
It was the sound.
Faint. Barely there. A hum—steady, soft, low. Not mechanical. Not environmental. Human.
His eyes opened.
And there she was.
Elysia.
Still asleep, though not the way he was used to seeing her. Not with that rigid, soldier's stillness she wore like armor. This was different. Her lips were slightly parted, a ghost of a breath slipping between them, and that hum—quiet, barely a note—rose and fell with her chest. Not a melody. Not intentional. Just instinct, maybe. A noise her body made in rest.
Her body.
Curled toward him. One leg draped over his, her arm tucked near his side, as if some part of her had reached out during sleep without permission.
And she hadn't moved away since.
Damien let the moment stretch, eyes tracing the shape of her brow, the mess of dark hair fanned over the pillow, the light sheen of sweat still clinging to her skin.
She was soft now.
Not weak.
But unguarded.
