MAILAH WOKE TO WARMTH.
Not the gentle, safe warmth of morning light through curtains—but the kind that came from another body, solid and unmistakably alive at her back.
For a moment, she stayed still, suspended between sleep and waking, listening to the slow rhythm of Grayson's breathing. The steady rise and fall of his chest was grounding in a way nothing else had been lately.
Her body cataloged itself.
There were familiar aches—soft bruises along her hips, the faint soreness in her thighs, the pleasant exhaustion that came from being held too tightly and for too long. But when she tested her fingers, flexed her toes, rolled her shoulder by a cautious inch, the pain didn't flare the way it had the first time.
It was… tolerable.
She frowned slightly into the pillow.
Either Grayson had been more careful than he pretended to be—or Dr. Morrison's elixir had done more than patch her up for one night.
