Morning leaked into the safehouse like a shy guest. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in a slice of gold that brushed the edge of the bed. I sat there for a long time, watching the light crawl across Rafael's arm. His skin still looked too pale, but there was color now, and breath that rose and fell with quiet rhythm. For the first time in days, the sound didn't terrify me—it steadied me.
I touched his hand. It was warm. I let my fingers stay there until he stirred.
"Still watching me, mi amor?" His voice was rough but alive.
"You snore," I said softly.
He smiled without opening his eyes. "Liar."
I wanted to laugh, but it came out as a sigh. The air smelled of antiseptic and coffee; Marco had brewed some hours ago, but I hadn't touched it. My whole world was here—his pulse under my fingertips, the faint scratch of his stubble when he turned his head toward me.
"You scared me," I whispered.
Rafael opened his eyes. "You don't scare easily."
"I do now."
