Sleep didn't return easily after that night.
It continued like this for days.
Even though Jace had walked me back upstairs and tucked me close to him, even though his arm was around me and his breathing was steady against the back of my neck, my mind stayed alert—awake in that silent way where your thoughts are too loud but your body is tired.
Maybe it really had been nothing.
Maybe it was just a shadow, my imagination, pregnancy hormones doing gymnastics in my head.
But when morning came, the feeling remained.
I woke up before he did. His chest was against my back, warm and solid and familiar. His hand rested over my belly, the way it always did now—like he was afraid she might disappear if he didn't physically hold her in place.
I stared at our intertwined fingers for a while, tracing the way his knuckles curved over mine.
He slept deeper when he was here with no tension in his shoulders, no sharp breath patterns, just quiet.
It made my heart ache.
