The only sound in the room was Vincent's soft snoring.
He'd fallen asleep half-draped across Marcus's shoulder, utterly spent after the whirlwind of last night—the rain, the confession, the kiss that had stripped both of them bare in more ways than one.
The peace was profound and rare. Marcus remembered the weight of Vincent in his arms, the sincerity in the confession. It was a terrifying vulnerability they'd shared, and in the aftermath, a quiet clarity had settled over him, the kind he hadn't known since his childhood. He breathed slowly, savoring the stillness, the warmth of the man beside him. For once, the weight of the world—the business, the enemies, the missing sister—felt distant.
Marcus sat still, afraid to move. For the first time in what felt like years, his pulse was calm.
Until the furious clatter of keys broke the peace.
