Peace and serenity were disturbed when the first light of morning crept through the window.
It was soft and golden—spilling across the bedroom in slow, deliberate waves. It touched the walls, the floor, the crumpled sheet, and with it, the room began to wake. The painting of the dragon, which had seemed so alive under the shadow of the night, now hung muted—and ordinary, its colors flattened by the honesty of the daylight.
On the bedside table, the candle had long since died, leaving behind only a quarter of its wax.
Even the scent of smoke had already disappeared from the air.
On the queen-sized bed, two bodies lay in a comfortable tangle in the quiet aftermath of their passionate night. Kai rested on his back, his posture stiff even in slumber, as though his body had forgotten how to fully surrender.
His left arm was stretched to the side, and it was upon that arm that Matilda's head lay.
