The morning air inside the master bedroom was still, heavy with the scent of lavender and the lingering chill of a long, fretful night. Ren woke before the sun, his internal clock as reliable as ever, but he did not move to rise.
He remained perfectly still, his gaze fixed on the rise and fall of Fang's chest. Fang had spent the better part of the night thrashing, his brow furrowed in a deep, troubled sleep that Ren had been unable to soothe. The shadows of the cathedral, the haunting resonance of the city's machine, and the chilling realization of what it all meant had haunted him.
Ren sighed softly, his own heart aching for the burden his love carried. He shifted, his movements as fluid and silent as a shadow, and reached out to brush a stray lock of dark hair from Fang's forehead.
