Sunlight crept across the sheets, soft and golden, slipping in through the half-open blinds. It touched her face first — warm and slow — and stirred her from the edge of sleep.
Celeste blinked.
For a moment, she didn't move. She just lay there, trying to remember where she was.
Then she felt the rise and fall of breathing beside her.
Damien.
Still asleep, one arm tossed over his eyes like he was blocking out the world. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, his hair a mess, his mouth slightly parted. He looked younger like this. Lighter. As if the night had peeled something off both of them.
Celeste sat up carefully, pressing the blanket to her chest. Her head was clear, her body relaxed in a way she hadn't felt in weeks — no tension behind her eyes, no nausea in her gut, no voice screaming in her head.
Just quiet.
She stood and padded barefoot to the balcony. The ocean stretched out in front of her, waves rolling in soft and slow. Below, the streets were still sleepy. No cameras. No reporters. No one calling her name.
Her fingers rested lightly on the railing.
She didn't know how long this quiet would last — or what would come when it finally ended — but she knew one thing for sure:
Right now, in this moment, she wasn't pretending.
"Didn't think you were the type to enjoy sunrise," Damien's voice called from behind her, low and scratchy with sleep.
She glanced back at him over her shoulder. "I'm not."
He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "Then why are you up?"
Celeste turned her face back to the sea. "Because for once, I woke up and didn't feel like I was suffocating."
Damien didn't say anything. But a few seconds later, she felt his hand brush her lower back as he joined her at the railing, standing in that easy silence again.
And just like the night before…
It was enough.