I woke to warmth.
Not the oppressive, suffocating heat of a courtroom packed with tension, nor the scorching blaze of a fire waiting to be tamed. This was something softer. Something grounding.
Camille.
Her body was tucked against mine, steady breaths fanning lightly against my collar. Her weight was familiar, a gentle pressure that anchored me to the present.
A blanket had been draped over us, one that I knew neither of us had placed. I shifted my gaze, spotting Camille's Mr. Dust outfit neatly folded on the chair beside the desk. Next to it—Sienna's firefighter gear, also folded with quiet care.
A small, knowing smile tugged at my lips.
Sienna.
Even in exhaustion, she had looked after us.
The room was quiet, bathed in the pale light of early morning. Outside the apartment's walls, the world still stirred with the aftermath of the trial, the media no doubt clawing at every angle they could find. But in here, none of that mattered.
