The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the dormitory, its golden light stretching lazily across the wooden floorboards and reaching the foot of Noel's bed.
He lay there, eyes open, unmoving.
One arm was pinned beneath Elyra, her head resting comfortably against his shoulder. Her black hair, still loosely braided, had come undone during the night and now spilled across his chest.
On the other side, Elena breathed softly, her platinum hair cascading over the edge of the mattress, one hand resting gently against his ribs.
Noel blinked.
'Did I sleep? Barely. Two hours, maybe. Noir, you traitor.'
He shifted his head slightly and looked at the empty chair across the room. Noir had curled up there the night before, refusing to share the bed with "that much emotional tension," as he imagined she'd say—if she could talk.
