I woke to quiet.
The curtains were half open, letting thin morning light fall across the bed. The sheets still smelled like him—cologne, smoke, and something warm that only Rafael carried with him. I reached for his side of the mattress and found nothing but cold fabric.
For a moment I just sat there, staring at the empty space. My body still hummed from what had happened the night before. My mind, though, felt heavy and strange. I had no idea what it meant.
The clock on the wall said eight-thirty. He never slept in; I should have known he'd be up before sunrise, already chasing whatever danger waited for him. Still, a small part of me wished he'd stayed, just long enough to see me open my eyes.
I pulled the blanket around my shoulders and walked to the mirror. My reflection looked different—softer somehow, confused and a little frightened. I didn't look like someone who was owned; I looked like someone who'd given something away willingly.
