In the quiet of the night, I could hear my own heartbeat.
Fast. Uneven. Too loud.
The room felt smaller with my thoughts racing like this.
Lewis must have sensed it.
His hand moved slowly against my back, firm but gentle, a steady rhythm that grounded me without asking permission. It was the kind of touch that said you're not alone, even when no words were spoken.
"I didn't mean to weigh on you," he said softly. "I just wanted you to know how I feel."
Then, after a pause, "It's late. Try to sleep."
His voice was low, calm, carrying that quiet authority that always settled my nerves whether I wanted it to or not.
Not long after, his breathing evened out slow, deep, steady. The kind of rest that only came when someone felt secure.
I lay awake much longer.
When sleep finally pulled me under, it didn't come gently.
I dreamed.
I was back at the Morrigan Residence.
