Ashley woke first, sometime after noon, when the colour of the room had softened.
The storm inside her hadn't quieted, it had only been placated. Her skin still sang where he'd touched her in the dark, a low, warm echo that made memory feel like heat.
She didn't crave the release anymore. Not the silly dares, not the danger. It was this, his arm heavy across her waist, his heartbeat steady at her back, the hope threaded into the way he held her like she already belonged.
But she knew better.
She turned her face into the pillow, as if white cotton could muffle the truth from clawing its way up. There had been a name on his phone. A file with a caption too polite to be innocent.
Madeline Vale. Thank you.
