Gavriel's expression softened by exactly one degree.
One degree was all he gave her. The degree said good. The degree also said I'm watching you, and the watching was going to continue until Alaric arrived or the sun fully committed to rising, whichever came first.
She settled against the pillows. Her body recognized horizontal the way a body that had been vertical on borrowed time recognizes the thing it actually needed. Her muscles unclenched. Her breathing deepened. The green magic that was still wrapped around her pulsed once, warm, steady, and she could feel it refilling her reserves with the patient, relentless generosity of a man whose magic treated her wellbeing as a standing order.
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
The room was silent except for Fin's breathing, Dexmon's sleep-mumbling, and Onyx's purring, which had resumed the moment she returned to the bed and was vibrating through the mattress at a frequency that could have registered on seismic equipment.
