The first light bled through the blinds when Frank opened his eyes. His body clock had always been merciless — up before dawn, sharp even on mornings after restless nights. The air smelled faintly of smoke and coffee from yesterday, mixed with something softer: Zoey's perfume lingering on the sheets.
For a long moment, he just sat at the edge of the bed, cigarette between his fingers, staring at nothing. Then the soldier in him kicked back in. He lit up, inhaled deep, and got moving.
By the time Zoey stirred, Frank already had two mugs of coffee steaming on the table. She padded over, hair falling across her face, eyes still heavy but alert.
"Morning," she murmured, reaching for her cup.
Frank gave her a nod, exhaling a ribbon of smoke. "Morning. You packed?"
Zoey sipped, smirking over the rim of her mug. "Not yet. I was waiting to see what you'd forget, so I could rub it in later."
Frank's lips twitched, almost a smile. "I don't forget."
