As Noah's body adjusted to the unfamiliar strength coursing through him, he flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders, still trying to understand just how different everything felt. There was no lingering fatigue from the integration process, no soreness from the ordeal he'd just endured. If anything, he felt better than he had before it started.
The bathroom door opened behind him.
Noah turned his head and froze.
Sage stepped back into the attic, her long red hair still damp from the shower, dark and heavy as it clung in wet strands to the delicate curve of her neck and the flushed skin of her cheeks.
Tiny droplets traced glistening paths down her throat, slipping lower, disappearing into the shadowed valley of her cleavage where the thin collar of his oversized black T-shirt gaped slightly—his shirt, the one he hadn't remembered leaving in that bathroom, now hanging loose and unclaimed over her bare skin.
