The fire had died down to a soft glow overnight, leaving only the faintest warmth in the hearth. Mikhailis became aware of this gentle chill just as the first rays of morning light slipped past the thick silk drapes, illuminating scattered shadows across the stone floor. He realized he wasn't alone—Elowen slept curled against his chest, her silver hair a tangled curtain that brushed his chin. Their legs were still entwined beneath a single blanket, the shared heat of their bodies warding off the lingering coolness of the room. For once, there was no pressing sense of urgency pushing him to untangle himself. He exhaled slowly, allowing himself a rare moment of calm.
His momentary peace was short-lived.
Rodion's disembodied voice chimed in with subtle condescension, as it often did at inconvenient times.
