Morning arrived softly, filtered through pale light and quiet breaths.
Clara woke first.
She lay still for a moment, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of Nathaniel's breathing beside her.
His arm was draped around her waist, protective even in sleep, as though some part of him was always on guard.
The events of the previous day hovered at the edge of her mind—hospital lights, fear clawing at her chest, memories that refused to stay buried—but for now, she focused on this moment. On warmth. On safety.
Carefully, she shifted just enough to look at him.
Nathaniel looked younger like this, the sharp lines of responsibility softened by rest. Clara felt something tighten gently in her chest, a mixture of affection and quiet disbelief. So much had changed. And yet, somehow, they were here.
She must have moved more than she realized, because his grip tightened slightly.
"Morning," he murmured, eyes still closed.
She smiled despite herself. "Morning."
